


A Business Trip

by bubble_bones



Series: Ariwyn and Solas [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubble_bones/pseuds/bubble_bones
Summary: "Help." he hears the quiet murmur of Cole's voice from behind him. "Run your fingers down her spine. Soft, warm. Love the sounds she makes, ease away the hurt. She likes it when you touch her."Solas would not mind the suggestion if it were not already on his mind. He would have also preferred it if Cole has said such things to him alone.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: Ariwyn and Solas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007619
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A direct sequel to Wisps and Wants, where Ariwyn and Solas' relationship develops some more. Also more smut, yay :3 
> 
> This will be placed in the collection between Wisps and Wants, and When in Orlais, so sorry if it jostles the order of the series up a little bit! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

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When Solas wakes, it is to the brightness of sunlight coming through the windows. It is never usually so bright in his room - he blinks, and remembers. Remembers a feeling he has not in a very long time: of another body pressed to his when he fell asleep. The warmth and wonder of Ariwyn's petite frame curled up against his, an arm wound around his middle. The sleep in his eyes gives way to the sight of an empty and cold mattress at his side, and his stomach sinks. 

"Good morning." 

And then the feeling is gone. He glances over his shoulder to see the smile that matches the lovely song of her voice. Ariwyn is rising from her desk and coming to him quickly; she practically pounces on the bed like a lithe cat, and catches him in a kiss. He hums, and holds her in his arms. Her chest, yet covered by a simple nightgown, is so soft and warm against his. If this is how he wakes, perhaps he can come to enjoy his mornings and thusly the curse that is morning tea a little more. 

"I would've like to stay in bed and cuddle all morning," she whispers against his lips, "But I didn't finish all those stupid letters last night thst I promised Josephine." 

"Shirking your duties, Inquisitor?" he asks with mock horror. "Shameful."

She laughs. A wonderful, bubbly laugh, that rings in his ears long after it's gone. 

"Not shirking." she corrects with a smile. "Merely reconsidering the priorities to my happiness." 

He brushes a hand through her hair. Her lips are curled upward in such an open and raw display of joy that he almost feels like a fool for asking for confirmation with his question. 

"And have I brought you that?" 

Her head falls to the side. "Of course." she comes to kiss him softly. She goes to draw back but he does not let her, not yet. He savours the taste of her lips for a few moments more before releasing his gentle yet firm grip on the nape of her neck. "Careful," she whispers, "Or you'll have me all wanting again." 

The corner of his lip twitches upward. "I would not mind it." he tells her, and she laughs. Says something about him being cheeky or other such nonsense. He does not hear for staring, soaking in the sight of her in the sunlight. When she realises the sheer intensity of his gaze, her cheeks go a wonderful rosy shade. 

"What?" Ariwyn curls her hair over her shoulder and plays with it in her fingers. It is so coy and demure that he can hardly see the resemblence between her and the woman that was straddled in his lap last night. "Is there something on my face?" 

Solas smiles. "No. I simply enjoy admiring you." 

"Sweet-talker." she tries to roll her eyes, but she's too embarrassed for it to work. Her eyes flash up to his and she looks as if she wants to say something. When he's about to prompt her, she decides to let it out anyhow. "Last night," she begins, and his stomach churns. _Don't say it was a mistake._ He should say that. But he can't. 

"What of it?" he asks. He sits up so that he might be able to touch her, run his fingers across her cheek. Her face is still warm under his touch. 

"I…" she's biting her lip again. "I enjoyed it. All of it. I just wanted to ask one thing." 

A wave of relief washes over him. If he believed in the same gods as her, he'd thank them. It was foolish to want otherwise, but he should not be allowing this to continue. And yet when she sinks her cheek into his hand and lets out a sigh of contentment, he cannot draw his hand away. 

"Yes, _vhenan?_ " 

She's grinning at the name. "You told me you loved me. I… Think I said it back? Just before I fell asleep." she lets out a little laugh. Then, looks up at him with those enthralling emerald eyes. "Did you mean it?" 

_No._ That's what he should say. He should break her heart now to save her pain later, when they have fallen so deeply in this hole they have dug that they cannot climb out. But he can't do it. His heart will not let him deny the words that left him when he had been lost in his passion, nor could he bear to see agony on her face if he did. She is so pure and so easily broken; her inexperience with love could scare her forever away from it if he hurts her now. 

"Yes." 

The word has barely left him before she's jumped on him and kissed him. If he was more careless, she could have easily sent them both tumbling off the edge of the bed. He nearly scolds her for it but she's laughing again. Such a delighted, glee-full laugh. It is too hard to say anything but listen.

" _Ar lath ma, vhenan_." she murmurs against his lips, and his heart skips a beat. Hearing her return his love in the common tongue was one thing, but hearing it in Elven, his first and true language... It feels so much realer than he'd expected it to. 

And then the moment is completely ruined by the abrupt sound of a door opening below. 

"Inquisitor? Are you awake?" 

"Shit, it's Josephine." Ariwyn hisses, "I didn't think she'd come up to-" 

He silences her with a gentle kiss. "Do not fret," he says, softly. "I am not ashamed to be seen with you. If you wish, I can hide myself but…" 

She's wearing a wide smile. Then, quickly scrambles from the bed. 

"Well, pretend to be asleep or something, alright? She'll rip your head off otherwise." she warns with a gentle laugh and he nods. He does as instructed and settles down against the mattress, ensuring the sheets are drawn up over his waist. He's certainly capable of feigning sleep. He isn't sure where he picked up such a skill, but he can. 

Solas has to keep his smile to himself as he hears her scramble to look casual. She's probably gone back to her desk in a desperate attempt to look as if she's busy. By the time Josephine has come up, Ariwyn's settled down somewhere, at least. 

"Good morning, Inquisitor, good to see you are awake so early of your own accord." he hears Josephine say with something akin to pride. _Curious_ , he thinks. Ariwyn is usually a late sleeper. "I have some things for you to look over when you get the chance." 

"Certainly." comes Ariwyn's eloquent response. "I can take a look at them the second I'm finished here." 

"Are those the letters that I-" 

"Hm?" she sounds confused, then a quicker, firmer, " _Yes._ Yes, they're the letters you gave me. H-Here."

It is becoming harder and harder to keep his smile under control. He assumes Josephine has spotted him by now. The silent shock is his only indicator. 

"I-" Josephine clears her throat. "I am sorry, Inquisitor, I didn't not realise you… Had company." 

He can only imagine the bright red flush of Ariwyn's cheeks. 

"Y-Yes, I…" she begins but seemingly doesn't know where to go with it. Then, she coughs. "You'll keep this quiet, won't you?" 

"Of course! No one shall know. I shall leave you to…" the ambassador doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, "I will see you later, Inquisitor. Good day." 

"Oh, Josephine, one more thing?" 

It is unlike him to roll his eyes, but perhaps he should on this occasion. Perhaps Ariwyn is simply poor at reading the room. 

"Yes, Inquisitor?" 

"I want an office." 

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Some time rolls by before Ariwyn gets the office she'd asked for. Josephine promises to look into it, and will put it _somewhere_ on the list of to-be-done renovations in Skyhold. Meanwhile, they receive an alert of a rift opening somewhere in easternmost Orlais - she isn't really paying attention when Cullen is reading the report to the war table. Too busy playing with one of the Commander's little toy soldiers to hear the words, really. Maybe she shouldn't be doing that - especially when she sees him glaring at her over the parchment in his hands. 

"Well I'll just have to go, won't I?" Ariwyn says with a shrug, "It's not like anyone else can close the rifts." 

"But it's a matter of priority, Inquisitor." Cullen reminds her, and the urge to roll her eyes is so strong it hurts. "There are rifts opening up all over. _And_ there's the matter of Empress Celene. We must tackle these things in a reasonable manner." 

"Yes but also in a reasonable, _timely_ manner." she adds, and stands from her chair. "I go to the rift." she drops the little soldier on the marker in Orlais - it can't be more than a few days ride away. Maybe a week at most. "I take care of the rift. While I'm in Orlais, I figure out a way into the Winter Palace." 

"It is not that _simple,_ Inquisitor." 

"Then make it that simple." she huffs. Impatient, she runs a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry… I'm just really bad with all this. This command and stuff. I don't mean to be so grumpy." 

Cullen glances sideways at Leliana. Creators, she hates how they look at her when they think she's not looking. Cassandra and Josephine might have fully supported the idea of Ariwyn becoming Inquisitor, but those two? They barely trusted her to hold the sword of the Inquisitor, never mind actually be the one to wield it. If she _could_ wield it, mind you, being a mage and all. She does not blame them, either. A Dalish elf, not even ready to lead her own clan - stumbling into a place she shouldn't be and by pure accident, being granted a power they barely understand? Why on earth should she be in such a place of power? 

"It will be done, Inquisitor." Leliana decides. Ariwyn's eyes flick up to her in surprise. "Cullen will organise some soldiers to go with you into Lydes to handle the rift. And it is but a day's ride from Halamshiral; I can send some spies with you that will remain there and gather information." 

She's surprised Leliana is taking her side. Usually, she _doesn't_. If it's her idea against Cullen's, the Commander gets her support. Well, she certainly won't look a gift nightengale in the mouth. 

"Wonderful." she breathes in relief. "Thank you. And sorry - for being a pain."

And now, Cullen glances Josephine's way. She gives him a pointed look and he huffs. 

"My apologies as well, Inquisitor." he bows his head. "I forget to remind myself you are newer to this than all of us. It is not my intent to be short tempered." 

And now the ambassador looks at him with a satisfied smile. Ariwyn really doesn't deserve Josie's support - ever since day one, when she'd been absolutely delighted by Josephine's very minimal Elven, she'd strived to help her. Even if they came from completely different corners of the world, somehow they'd become friends. The same could be said for all of her inner circle, in fact. People from so many different walks of life, all coming together under one banner. 

"Who will you take with you?" Josephine asks, dipping her pen ready in some ink to make a note. 

Ariwyn presses a finger to her chin. "Cassandra hates dealing with people and Orlesians love people. Blackwall also doesn't like Orlais, so I'll take Iron Bull with me. Varric too, he's too good a shot not to. Cole as well, he's good with rifts." then she chews on her lip. She realises it's obvious and drops it." And Solas, too. I mean, he's the expert on the Fade. I _have_ to take him with me."

She realises she perhaps put a little too much emphasis on that last excuse. Josephine is regarding her with a little smile - and so is Leliana when she glances at her. The only one who isn't is Cullen, who would be oblivious to any secret happenings in Skyhold anyway. That's not his area of expertise. 

"Very well, Inquisitor." the ambassador nods and hastily scribbles away. "Would you like me to tell them, or will you take care of it?" 

"I'll handle that." she says quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly. Josephine is smiling at her again. 

Cullen rights himself from where he is leant on the desk, and rubs at his forehead. "Well, that's all I had for today. Anything else?" 

There's a collective shake of the head around the war table. These meetings are always a necessity, but she does so hate them. Half the time she loses track of who has said what and why, what is important and what tactics they should employ in a new area or particular battle. She likes being told what to do, how to do it, and she'll have it done. Being in command makes her nervous. 

"Oh, but Josephine?" Ariwyn quickly asks when their meeting adjourns, and they begin for the door. "Have we looked into my office situation yet?" 

There's a small yet amused laugh from their spymaster. "What do you even want an office for?" Leliana asks, with a quirked brow beneath her hood. 

"You all have offices." she says with a shrug. "I just want to feel important!" 

"You _are_ important." 

"Aw." 

_Sometimes_ she could get along with Leliana. Perhaps if she'd met her as a younger woman, one less cold to the world and inherently drawn to violence to solve her issues, maybe they could have been good friends. 

The Great Hall is busy as usual; visitors from all over to take a peek at the somewhat notorious Inquisition. Defying the Chantry and attempting to save the world has won them interest from all over southern Thedas. She's thankful for the other notable figures at her side when they leave their meeting, for amongst them - as the elf - she blends in more. And thus, is able to disappear with more ease than any of the rest of her advisors. 

She crosses the hall before someone recognises her and talks her pointed ear off. By the warmth of the hearth, Varric is sat in his usual chair, quite successfully ignoring the loud rabble of the crowds. In his hands he's got a leather-wrapped book, and a quill with which he scribbles something. 

"Varric!" she greets with a grin. He offers her a warm smile of his own and nods when she jerks her chin to follow. He tucks his quill in the spine of the book and puts it under his arm as he follows her through to the rotunda. 

She goes to offer Solas a similar greeting. But she can't even open her mouth before she sees him hold up a finger from his desk - he doesn't even look up. His eyes are focused solely on the open tome on his desk before him; he scans it and then makes a swift note on the parchment beside it. There's a few seconds of quiet while he finishes his sentence, then finally looks up. 

"Inquisitor." he straightens up in his chair, and the small hint of a smile is enough to make her stomach do a little flip. It has been almost a full week since he visited her, and she would even start to think it was just a dream, if it wasn't for his subtle affection. The soft crinkle of his eyes when he gazes at her, the brief but tender touches at her fingers or her arms. The measured and gentle tone he takes with her. Before, he had certainly displayed plenty of patience and openness to their discussions, but every talk they have had since has been wonderful. He has been attentive and receptive to her input to their conversations, even more so than usual. And in return he has been more conscious of his explanations and ideas that she struggles to comprehend. Slowly, he is opening up to her. She will wait as long as he needs for her to learn every side of him, but for now it is enough to know it has begun. 

"Solas." she smiles. She places her hands on her hips - she catches his eyes flash down to them and back up just as quickly - and turns to address the both of them. "How do you feel about a little trip to Orlais?" 

"Orlais?" Varric echoes, and shrugs. "Sure, why not? Bianca wanted to get out and stretch her legs anyhow." 

"And you, Solas?" she cocks her head. Chews on her lip - she knows he's not immune to staring at her when she does that. It has always been a nervous habit, but the delicious and simple want in his eyes when she does it is enough to encourage it to happen more consciously. 

"What business do you have there, if you do not mind me asking?" 

"There's reports of a rift opened near a town called Lydes. I thought you might want to take a look." 

A specific little type of curiosity flashes through his eyes. It's a different kind to the newer intrigue she's learned he possesses. It's an older one, one that she has known about since she met him. He has always been fascinated with every aspect of the Fade and subsequently, the Breach and rifts. It was him after all that held her hand and guided her in the manner of sealing her first rift. 

"Of course. It will be a good opportunity to test a new theory of mine." Solas agrees with a nod, and turns downward once more to his work. 

"A new theory?" she asks with excitement. Leans on his desk and gazes down at him, doesn't even realise she's smiling so widely until he quirks a brow at her. 

Varric laughs behind her. "Yeah, I think I'll pass. I'll leave you two to discuss your magic." 

She clears her throat and straightens. Finally, Solas' warning glance settles into normalcy. He had told her that he had no qualms about their relationship being common knowledge, yet she still has some reservations. She isn't really sure why; she doesn't mind her friends knowing, but is afraid of how fast it'll spread. Worried of what people might think of Solas, or what they might try to do to him to get at her. Of course she has not told him _any_ of this. 

"Yes." he says. He is eyeing her carefully as she comes around to his side of the desk and perches on the edge of it. Tucking her hair behind her ears she takes a nosy glance at his work - it's some sort of human-written book about spirits. She can only guess it's from Tevinter; the Chantry lets no one this far south write anything so interesting. 

"Are you going to share?" she asks with a teasing hum. The outside of her thigh is brushing his forearm set upon his armchair. Slow and steady, his gaze peels up from the closeness of her hip and up to her face. 

"Perhaps I will, on the trip to Lydes." 

Her brow quirks. His voice sounds as if it is promising more than a simple discussion on the Fade. 

Then again, it could as likely be something sinful as it could be a _detailed_ discussion on the Fade. 

"I look forward to it." she says with a cheeky smile. And then she pushes up from the desk, around his chair - glancing upward to the library above, she can't see anyone overlooking the rotunda. Very swiftly she leans down over him, catches his jaw in her hand and guides him to kiss her. Creators, it's so risky. Anyone could merely take a look over the railing above and see them - or come in from the Great Hall. 

But she pulls away as quickly as she came. He's glaring at her and it makes her bark a laugh; he's not angry at all. Frustrated, in fact, that she is allowed to claim his lips whenever she so desires. She imagines if he was allowed, he never would and leave her wanting until she simply dragged him somewhere secluded. A slow tease is what she's come to expect from him; lingering glances and gentle touches. Not enough to excite her, but enough to entice. 

"I have some other things to take care of before we leave." is what she says next, casually. "I'll see you soon." 

Solas' shoulders are tense. Oh, how she'd love to unwind that tension. Soothe and pull at the rigidness of his body until he is warm and soft and practically melting into her hands. And yet she has to keep a straight face and leave him once more to work, and only hope she didn't distract him _too_ much. 

"Yes, Inquisitor." he says, and there's a dangerous, alluring cloud over his eyes. "I shall see you soon." 

And now _she's_ the one hoping such a seductive and simple promise won't distract her for the rest of the day. 

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Ariwyn is exhausted. Solas has spent far too much time studying her over the course of the last few weeks not to notice. It was not the strain of the journey that tires her - absolutely not, she is Dalish and used to such hardship on the road. Besides, if anyone were to complain about long walks it would be Varric. "I have shorter legs!" he'd cry, or, "I'm a city kinda guy, what can I say?" 

But now they are settled around a campfire surrounded by soldiers bearing Inquisition heraldry, and she finally has a chance to relax. Truly, Solas is unsure how she does it. Even with as old and as powerful as he once was, he had been afraid of what his orb would do to him upon use. And yet she, a young and frail mortal woman in contrast to him, wields the Anchor with such impressive grace that it looks natural. They had rode for some days through the quieter parts of Orlesian countryside - places he cannot even claim to recognise anymore - and reached Lydes in time to assist the local militia with driving back a fresh swarm of demons. He hated the word. That such well-intended and fascinating creatures such as spirits would be twisted against their nature in such a perverse manner… It is yet another reason to hate what his magic has wrought. 

And now the rift is sealed. He is glad the Inquisitor had not pressed him further on his theory. He had hoped, perhaps, speaking to the demons in an older tongue like Elven would draw something from them. Remind them, perhaps, of a time less driven by torment and rage. Help them to remember what the world was once like. It had been foolish, in truth, to hope that he could fix such a problem - such a deep-rooted issue can only be undone by digging away until he can uproot the source. And that would be the Veil itself; the very same thing he is helping Ariwyn to meld, slowly but surely. 

His attempts had failed, and quite spectacularly at that. Cole had been by his side, and in knowing what he attempted without even needing to hear it, tried to help. When it became clear it was not working - helped along by Ariwyn's panicked cry when she saw how close he truly was to the demons he was meant to be killing - convinced Cole to eventually put an end to Solas' experiment. And so he had regretfully helped to end the suffering of the creatures first, and swore to think of a new means of salvation after the heat of battle passed. 

Across the fire, Ariwyn is painted in lovely shades of orange and yellow. She's curled up, arms around her knees, looking almost despondent at the source of the flames; flames she'd lit herself with her magic. He wants to help her relax, to ease away the stress of their journey and battle on her soul. He knows fighting does not come easy to her. She had told him once, that her magic had previously only been used in very rudimentary manners, to mend wounds or warm cold fingers at night. In fact, one of her first requests of his knowledge had been to help her refine more offensive spells and the manner in which to use her natural gift against others. It stains her pure soul in a way she does not deserve. He remembers how she had been when she had first taken a man's life in the Hinterlands; scared and tortured by the memory of his face in pain. It had taken words of comfort from him, Cassandra and Varric to get her moving again. 

Demons are not quite the same as mortals. Yet he knows his lessons in such matters are beginning to change her perspectives. It is beginning to weigh on her taking the lives of demons almost as much as those of men. 

"Help." he hears the quiet murmur of Cole's voice from behind him. "Run your fingers down her spine. Soft, warm. Love the sounds she makes, ease away the hurt. She likes it when you touch her." 

Solas would not mind the suggestion if it were not already on his mind. He would have also preferred it if Cole has said such things to him _alone_.

"What was that, kid?" Varric asks, but doesn't take his eyes off the book he is writing in. 

Ariwyn is eyeing Cole nervously. Then, quickly glances at him and then back at the well-meaning if a little uncertain spirit of Compassion beside him. 

"Who've you been fuckin'?" Iron Bull asks quite gruffly, grinning from ear to ear. Solas huffs. 

"An eloquent manner of speech you have, Bull." he says, calmly. He is simply staring at the campfire. "I do not see how that is any of your concern." 

A roar of laughter leaves the qunari mercenary. "So you _have_ been fuckin'! Come on, gimme details! Details!" 

If Ariwyn could sink any lower behind her arms, she is. Evidently, she is uncomfortable with such personal matters being spoken about so openly. It is of little consequence to him, but he would not have her upset over such a thing. And so he gives the Iron Bull a pointed glare. 

"Did I not just tell you that it is not your place to consider such things?" he warns, "Do not bring it up again. I will not-" 

"It's okay." says Ariwyn softly. He glances her way and she lets out a little sigh. "I-I want to tell them anyway. They're my friends, I'm just…" 

Bull's brows are raised so high that it could plausibly be considered that they would lift off his face entirely. Then, he barks another laugh. Claps Solas so hard on the back it almost takes the wind out of him. 

"You're fuckin' the Boss?" he howls. Solas runs a tongue over his teeth. "Damn, you don't just settle for the low-hanging fruit, huh?" 

He had done so _once_. Hardly anything to talk about so animatedly, and yet it is still no concern of his. And yet a man like Bull, who is supposedly a trained spy, cannot withhold his own curiosity long enough to notice how uncomfortable Ariwyn looks. She's biting hard on her lip so that her skin goes white beneath, fingers squeezing her knees tightly. She is staring at the ground as if in shame. 

She is not ashamed of joining with him. Is she? 

"I'm going for a walk." Ariwyn says abruptly and jumps to her feet. And without listening to anything further from them, she charges out of camp with a haste in her step, waving off any guards that try to follow. 

Cole speaks up again before Solas is able to lash out with his rage at Bull's insensitivity. 

"Uncertain - people shouldn't know. But the whole _world_ should know. She is happy. She could explode like a starshower and rain joy." he pauses, and something in Solas clenches tight. Spirits do not lie about the feelings they sense; and ones like Compassion are more sensitive than most. "But she is scared. Never done this before, never faced this fear." 

"Excuse me." Solas says abruptly and gets to his feet. He leaves the group at the fire to follow in Ariwyn's wake. And hopefully, by the time they return, Cole's words will have had an effect on Bull. He is not surprised, really, that a man so repressed by the very nature of the Qun expressed such vivid interests in one of the most freeing forms of liberation. Yet it did not give him such a right; to be so rude and insensitive, to fail to read the uncertainty upon Ariwyn's twisted brows. 

It is not a very long walk until he finds her. Only a few mere moments from the Inquisition camp he finds a small lake, formed by mortal hands as opposed to nature; a set of stairs lead down into the lake from all sides, forming an oval across the open ground. It is hidden away by thick boughs that hang down over the surface. And yet he recognises this as well as she does - it is Elven. Quiet and calm and serene. Blessedly untouched by human hands. But it has fallen into disrepair; the stone pavings at his feet are cracked and little golden mosaic tiles have either been picked out or damaged. He could imagine this place in the days of Arlathan. Glowing in the warmth of lanterns or free spirits, who study the happenings between the elves gathered. They don beautiful clothing impossible to craft without intricate magic, and the air positively sings with it. 

But then the vision fades. Ariwyn is standing alone at the edge of the lake, soaked in the cold glow of moonlight. 

"Are you alright, _vhenan?_ " he asks. Comes close and runs a hand up her arm. She shivers, but he realises it is not any fault of his; there are goosebumps on the flesh of her neck. She is cold. 

"I'm alright." she mumbles. She sounds unsure. With a little sigh she sinks back against him; it only feels right to wrap his arms around her and try to warm her, comfort her. They both know she is lying. 

"Bull should not have said what he did." Solas begins, resisting the urge to caress the very tip of her ear with his lips. "But I am at fault, as well. I should have had more tact in avoiding his questioning." 

"No. No you're not, I'm just-" she huffs. Rolls her head back on his shoulder and stares up at the night sky; it is clear of clouds today, and he knows they are bright. "I'm glad they know now. I know Bull was only joking."

"But you are still upset." it is not a question. 

"I'm upset at myself." 

"Why?" 

He watches how the words form in her mind. He waits quite patiently for her consideration - once upon a time he would engage in debates that would last days for the sheer time his opponents would take to consider their response. Waiting a few quiet moments for hers is not difficult. And it is quite enjoyable; feeling the warmth of her petite and tender pressed against him, the gentle finger squeezes at his hands around her waist. It feels like forever since he had had the simple pleasure of holding her. When had he become so impatient when it came to the very primal instincts of mere contact? 

"Because I want the whole world to know I love you." she finally says. It is a simple sentence but it makes his heart flare. "But I'm also afraid of that. It's all so… New, you know? We've barely only just discovered it ourselves. It feels almost like a disservice to us to share it already." 

He hums in contemplation. "I can understand your hesitation, my love." he enjoys the little shiver - this time of delight - that runs up her at the endearment. "This is new to you and exciting. But it also feels as if there is… Shame in it. Am I correct?" 

Her eyes go wide and she turns in his arms to stare at him, aghast. 

"No!" she cries immediately with a firm shake of her head. "No, I would never be ashamed of what we… Well…" 

"Of the love we made?" he asks with a very small smile. It does just what he had wished it would; even in the blue glow of the moon he can see the darkening flush of her cheeks. 

"Yes." she whispers. She winds her fingers around the nape of his neck, and presses up on her toes to rest her brow against his. "I would never be ashamed of that. I'm just… Afraid of what people would think, I suppose. In my clan, such things were only celebrated as a means to further our people. I've never really heard of it being solely for love." 

"Then your _hahrens_ did you a disservice." his fingers come up to wind a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Your sexuality is never a thing to be afraid of, Ariwyn. I only hope that I can encourage you to face it with pride, in place of fear." 

He has done something right; her lips are curled upwards a little. It encourages his own smile. 

"Would you have answered Bull if I wasn't so nervous?" she queries curiously. His brow quirks. 

"In the crude manner in which he asked me?" he asks with something of a snort. "Perhaps, if it is what you so desired. But I should imagine whatever happens between us is our business, first and foremost." 

She giggles. It is a delightful sound, that sends a hum of warmth right through him, all the way to his toes. 

"Of course it is." she murmurs, and the low manner in which she speaks sparks something within him. It feels like the telltale signals of desire. "Is now a bad time to be wanting you?" she asks. His breath catches in his throat. 

"There are occasions in which it might prove bad timing," he says and she rolls her eyes at the lengthy, roundabout manner in which he responds. "Yet I do not believe now is one of them." 

"Good." she purrs, and he has to bite his tongue to hold back the groan begging to be let out. The sheer, wonderful lust _dripping_ from her voice is simply exciting. It has been so long since a woman has aroused him with her mere voice alone. 

Yet their environment is not ideal. It is cold and that will not do; he wishes to see her bare beneath him, and he would not subject her to this air. And while such a setting might possess some natural romance, he is certain in reality it would prove uncomfortable. He halts her before she might kiss him, and drive away his consideration with his lust. 

"I will not take you here, _vhenan_." he whispers, barely an inch from her lips. He wants to kiss her. He truly does. 

"Then come into my tent." 

She's practically _begging_ . He will not refuse her plea for him to go with her again, he is no fool to deny it. But that would mean returning to camp and walking by her soldiers _and_ companions. As well as having to go without hearing her enthralling sounds of pleasure for fear of being overheard. His mind is whirring. It does not matter, not anymore. Not now when she's kissing him, whispering her breathless want and pressing her body against his. What did he do to deserve a woman who simply _desires_ him as much as she does? 

" _Vhenan_ ," he groans against her, and gets a delighted hum of curiosity in response. "You are making it very difficult to think." 

"What are you thinking about?" she cocks her head and that little cheeky smile is toying at her lips. 

_Tearing off your clothes and fucking you right here_ , is what his cock wants him to say. But he bites his lip, and he explains his more reasonable thoughts. 

"It is cold and you will be uncomfortable here," he begins, and she nods diligently, hanging on his every word. He's very aware of her fingers trailing down his chest and playing with his belt. "And if we were to retire to your tent I fear that would require more explanation than you would like." 

"Mhm." she says absently. It is unlike her not to listen to him. He catches her chin in his hand and turns her up to look at him. It is hard to try to scold her for burning desire in her eyes when he meets them. 

"I wish for you to be comfortable, _vhenan_ , and you are not listening." 

She's biting her lip. _Fenedhis_ , how long can his restraint last? 

"What if I don't want to be comfortable?" she asks, and it prompts an immediate frown from him. "I mean, what if it isn't really about me?" 

"Of course it is about you. I wish to-" whatever thought he had tried to finish dies in his mouth. Her hands are still on him, yes; but he had lost track of where they were. Her palm is rubbing gently over the hard ridge of his trousers - not nearly enough to bring relief, but enough to drive his desire wild. He lets out a shaky breath. 

"Let me please you." she whispers, "I want to. Teach me." 

She is utterly wicked. Pleading him in that lust-filled voice, asking to be _taught_ like it is merely another spell, or he has a new lesson in Elven history to debate with her. 

"You are…" he feels tongue-tied. "You are certain?" 

She nods so eagerly it nearly causes _him_ whiplash. 

"Yes. Yes I want to." she's breathless, wanting; he sees the way her thighs squeeze together desperately. He wants to touch her as much as she does him. Wants to lay her down on this floor, cold be damned, and devour her sweet wetness until the whole camp can hear her from here. 

And yet she is desperate for something other than her own relief. 

"On your knees, _vhenan_." 

The instruction has barely left his mouth before she has done so. The sight of her before him, knelt at his feet with shaky hands desperately undoing his belt, makes the lust in his belly flare wildly. He has caught himself in the past week, alone in his quarters, envisioning this very sight. Granted, in his imagination she is naked before him, beautiful skin shiny with sweat from the pleasure he had already driven her to. It had been nights like those that he had regretted not visiting her; instead finding himself running his hand along his cock and longing for her. 

But it is not a figment of his imagination anymore. She is here and she is already unfastening the lacing of his trousers. He thinks perhaps he should tell her to slow down and instruct her with more patience, but it might even be better this way; to allow her to discover things at her own pace. It will help her build her confidence in such matters, and it will help her decide when enough is enough. 

The air is cold against the exposed hardened length between his legs. He catches her wetting her lips with her tongue and has to breathe deeply to force his desire back to a point he might stand a chance at controlling. This is her will, he must remind himself, and even if it brings him pleasure he must always be cautious. As much as he would love to tangle her hair in his fist and revel in the beauty of her mouth, he is conscious to remember who she is. She is not a distant memory of a pretty little thing he had wasted away time with in Arlathan. She is his _vhenan_ ; his wonderful, gentle, _wicked_ heart, and he cannot make a mistake with her. He cannot force her beyond where her desires lie. 

Her gingers gingerly wrap around his cock. He breathes evenly, meets her curious gaze. She's watching him, but even in her excitable haste to please him, he sees a nervousness in her eyes; he gives her a nod of encouragement. She smiles. Her smile is so beautiful - it shows off little dimples in her cheeks. And then, ever so cautiously, she tastes him. Just a curious little lick of her tongue at the head of his length, and he feels his heart begin to race. His face feels hot. 

"Tell me if I do something wrong, okay?" she murmurs, and he nods. Though he doubts she will - he thinks at this point anything she could do will make him an utter mess. It is not often he willingly allows himself to be at the mercy of another; and yet he does not mind right now. "And," she adds with a cheeky smile. "Definitely tell me if I do something right." 

He chuckles. "You want for praise, _vhenan_?" 

"Maybe." 

Giving praise is certainly not a difficult task. He thinks it is something he will enjoy wholeheartedly. After all, she deserves it. And if she is so willing to give him this, then he is more than willing to thank her with a shower of appreciation. 

A soft groan leaves his lips without his consent when she takes him in her mouth again. Not much; she's testing her limits, exploring this new frontier. He would applaud her dedicated efforts, if it were not the most torturous tease he has ever been subjected to. But perhaps she knows that, and is savouring the power she holds over him. He knows he certainly would enjoy it were their roles reversed. 

But they are not, and so he must simply close his eyes and revel in what little pleasure she grants him. The fingers of one hand are dug into his thighs with a delicious amount of pressure, and her other is wrapped around his shaft. She's already figured out the subtle movement that has him panting where he stands. The squeeze, and the back and forth. All the while she barely holds him between her lips, vaguely tasting him with her tongue. 

" _Vhenan_ ," he groans. He… He wants to hold her. And yet he is afraid of how it might feel if he were to do it of his own accord. "Ariwyn, may I-" he is cut off with a short gasp as she takes him deeper - only a little. "May I hold your hair?" 

She hums against him, hand at his thigh reaching up without breaking from her task. She guides his hand to her head, squeezes his palm, and then returns her grip to his hip. She is enjoying this, but nowhere near as much as he is. That he can say for certain. 

Emboldened by her consent, he sinks his fingers into her hair. Runs his nails gently across her scalp, tangles it in his grip. He will not command her with it, absolutely not. It is for her to decide what happens, when and how. He simply enjoys the feeling of her soft locks between his fingers, and being more conscious of the gentle bobbing of her head on his cock. She's finding a rhythm now; she will only take so much of him between her lips, but the rest that does not is pleasured by her soft fingers. 

"That is excellent, my love," he breathes, and her eyelids flutter to gaze at him. The lust-filled look in her eyes is enough to make him groan as she takes him in once more. Suckles at him, runs her tongue across the underside of his hard length. " _Fenedhis_ , Ariwyn…"

Her lips twitch against him. Is she smiling? _Minx_. He would have to return her favour doubly later, he thinks. Accept her invitation to join her in her tent and drive her mad all while she cannot express her pleasure for fear of being overheard. 

But for now, he is lost in his pleasure. The building tension in his stomach and how it jumps at the motions of his love at his feet. He can hear her panted breathing, imagine her own desperation most likely wet between her legs. He cannot wait to taste her. By holding him back now, it only strengthens the hunger with which he will go down on her later. He has been craving the taste of her heat since he was given the privilege of it what feels like an age ago. 

"Faster, Ariwyn." he says. It is not a command, nor a request. A prompt, an idea. Yet she acts on it like it is an instruction, a new haste to her movements that makes him moan his passion into the cold air. It doesn't feel so cold anymore; every inch of his body is on fire thanks to her and that wonderful mouth of hers. 

And what's more, she begins to take him deeper. He doesn't notice it at first but when he does, he gasps, fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on her hair. It takes every ounce of restraint not to thrust until he hits the very back of her throat. What is it about Ariwyn that utterly destroys his self control? He has never known himself to feel such a need to hold back the raw ferocity of his desires; he is so afraid to hurt her, he is willing to forget them, once they are reigned in. Maybe one day she might wish to explore them with him. 

He should not be considering _one day_. He should not be here, with her on her knees and his cock being adoringly pleased by her lovely lips. And yet he is. So he savours the moment; tries to print the image of her, desperate and needy, gasping as she tries to take as much of his length into her mouth as she can manage, into his memory. Tries to remember how that sharp gasp felt leaving him when he felt himself brush the back of her throat. 

"Ariwyn, stop. I cannot-" 

She ignores him. His belly clenches and his hips jerk - and then the feeling of euphoria hits him hard, so hard he's breathless. Afraid he is hurting her he tries to release her hair, but she catches his hand. She presses it back against her head and holds him there until the gentle rocking of his hips ceases and his high fades away. Then and only then does she draw back, licking away at her lips like a hungry beast. 

For a moment when she releases him, she merely remains there on her knees, panting for breath. Then, her shaky fingers release his, and both her hands fall into her lap. He is unsure why her posture upsets him; she looks like she's curling in on herself. Like she wants to hide away. Swiftly he presses his hand once more to her head, drifts his fingers downward to her chin and turns her upward to face him. 

"I do not even know where I can begin to thank you, _vhenan_." he whispers. "You did an incredibly wonderful job." 

She gives him a little smile. "I enjoyed it, too." then, it becomes teasing. "Perhaps it is me that should thank you.” she quotes, and he snorts. He had said the very same to her when she had thanked him for pleasuring her. 

Then, his fingers trail downward from her jaw. Down her chest and her belly, and then they stop. 

"Once more I am reminded that there are other matters that I would enjoy attending to." he says, and when he looks up to catch her gaze once more, she shudders. "Would you allow me to relieve you of your lust, my love?" 

She's practically shaking. "Yes." she purrs, scrambling up to his height. "Please. I-I need-" 

"I know what you need." he says, confident. And he does. She needs to be spread out and receive his full attention; to be pleased by his lips, his tongue, his fingers. And, if he is lucky, his cock. But he will not push her after he has brought her her release if she cannot go further. 

" _Please_." 

He chuckles, and catches her lips in a gentle kiss. She seems to expect more for how she clings to him. 

"Be careful, _vhenan_ ," he warns, "Begging like this will become a habit." 

"I don't care." Ariwyn huffs, and drags him in for another kiss. "I'll beg again if I have to. Do I _have_ to ask again?" 

"No. Of course not." he comes willingly to her kiss this time; tastes the distant salt of his pleasure on her tongue; tries to combat her hasty desperation with a slow and passionate kiss. Eventually, it calms her down to a languid yet pleading caress of her lips on his, but he _knows_ between her legs is a delicious blend of need and want and lust. He cannot wait to tear away her clothes and find it. 

"Come." he says, and gets to his feet. He is careful to relace his trousers and fasten his belt so that Bull cannot even try to poke fun. "Let us return to camp." 

"W-What?" she's horrified, but scrambles to her feet to catch him. "But I-you said-" 

She is so consumed by her desire, she cannot even form a sentence. Somehow he finds it so charming he cannot help but kiss her. 

"You laughed at me." he says simply and her brows raise, "When you were pleasing me. I noticed it, Ariwyn - and you'll be most pleased to know I intend to ensure I am offered the same opportunity." 

Something akin to flushed shock overtakes her. She is clever - already having figured it out, she takes her lip between her teeth. 

"B-But what if I can't be quiet?" she asks, and her pretty blush is spreading to the tips of her ears. "What if someone hears me?" 

Solas shrugs. "That is no concern of mine. Perhaps you should have considered a potential reprimand for my apparently humorous enjoyment." 

Somehow, he simply knows that deep down, she is enjoying the prospect of this challenge. Perhaps it is the deep desire in her eyes - or is it the squeezing together of her lovely, soft thighs that is a telltale sign of that desperate want between them? He should discuss things in length with her later about such matters; inquire as to her curiosities and queries into this intimate world she's only just entering. 

But for now, he must resolve a more important problem. Namely, the desperate, unsated lust she is suffering with. 

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	2. Chapter 2

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Despite the heat pooling in her belly, Ariwyn finds that she's able to find some sort of relative calm as they return to camp. She reaches for his hand and he wordlessly twines his fingers with hers. Such a gentle and simple touch warms her heart and widens her smile, and she realises that if she considers actually having to talk to her other companions upon returning to camp, she can briefly put aside her wanton lust. Briefly being the key part. 

The camp is quieter than when she left it. The soldiers on guard have settled to key points about the cluster of tents, and those not on duty have already disappeared into theirs. Her companions are still sitting around the fire; Varric is still writing and Bull is busy wiping down the bloodied blade of his axe with a damp cloth. Cole is nowhere to be seen, but that is no surprise. She trusts he can't get himself into much trouble on his own. 

"Boss! Welcome back." Bull greets with a grin, and she rolls his eyes when he wiggles his eyebrows at where her hand is still in Solas'. "You're so damned adorable."

Varric is chuckling over his book. "Don't mind him, Inquisitor. Tiny's just jealous." 

"Hell yeah, I'm jealous. You're gonna get all snuggly and precious in her tent now, huh Solas?" he jerks his chin at Solas, who looks so utterly unimpressed it's hard not to laugh. "Maybe get a little  _ naughty _ . Don't worry, I know the feeling of wandering fingers-" 

"That's quite enough of that, Bull." she manages, and only hopes her flush isn't very evident. "I'm going to retire now, and I hope that's the end of this conversation." 

"Awh." Bull whines as she goes to the closed flaps of her tent. "Can't I watch? Maybe give some tips?" 

"Absolutely not." she hears Solas' instant and appalled response. She bites her lip to hold back her laughter as she goes inside the tent, and lets the flap close behind her. There's a little lantern at the head of the bedroll that she lights with a wave of her fingers. As she begins to pry off the top layers of her attire, she realises she can still hear their voices outside. 

"Why not?" Iron Bull is asking, sounding legitimately disappointed. "I don't mean I'd give you tips on your performance, I'm not about to go tellin' another guy how to stick it in." 

" _ Please _ stop talking." comes Solas' dry response and from the snicker from Varric, it's evident she's not the only one finding his reactions amusing. 

"Have you ever used your lil magic thing in a dirty way? What about some good old fashioned rope-" 

"This conversation is over, Bull. Goodnight." 

She has to scramble back from the entrance to her tent for her eavesdropping when she hears his footsteps incoming. There's a bark of a laugh from Iron Bull as Solas draws back the flap of her tent and comes inside without a word. Despite how disgruntled he had appeared to Bull and Varric, Solas doesn't actually seem to look quite as bothered by their input as she'd thought. He offers her something of a small smile, and follows in her example in removing most of the heavier parts of his attire. His fingers undo his belt to pull away his jacket, and she has to avert her eyes for the thoughts that spring to mind. Her lust is now more sedated, but it is still so very there. Yet she isn't sure how she'd feel about doing anything now whilst Bull certainly could be keeping an ear out. 

"You do not mind me joining you, do you?" he asks abruptly, and she blinks. 

"Of course. I wouldn't want you anywhere else." 

"I am uncertain of how sharing a tent will appear to your soldiers. Their gossip will spread faster than any of Bull's jeering-" 

She shrugs. "Let them. If you don't mind it, then neither do I." 

He studies her for a moment with those cool grey eyes. Then, he smiles to himself and continues in his task. He neatly folds his jacket at the tent's entrance, and begins to work unwinding the wraps around his feet and calves. She gets so caught up in watching him she forgets herself. 

His eyes flash towards her. They gaze up and down, and the displeased look on his face sends a jolt of excitement right to her belly. 

"You aren't going to remain like that all night, I hope?" he says in a dry voice. She grins, and ducks her head behind her hair. 

"I hope not too." she teases, and decides that perhaps, she should focus on undressing too, before she gets carried away. With a little tug the thin ribbon comes loose from around her wrist and she works to braid her hair up together and over her shoulder. Then, slides off her bracers and undoes the buckle of her belt holding her jacket closed. She makes an effort to try to be tidy like him; folding her things in a little pile next to his. He is staring at her, utterly shamelessly. She tries not to let her smile appear too obvious. 

As she is now, she is far too uncomfortable to sleep. Not just because of her unsated desire, but because of the clothes that still remain. And so she goes about her business like she is simply retiring to sleep at any other occasion. Undoes the laces of her breeches and shimmies out of them, lazily kicking them atop her pile and dropping to the somewhat plush bedding beneath her. She unbuttons her shirt and tosses it off somewhere so that all that remains is a thin undershirt and her smalls. She had certainly wanted to give him something to stare at; and yet she tugs the top layer of bedding up and over her, rolling to her side so that she cannot see him. Her lip is beginning to hurt from how much she bites it to keep her laughter in. 

Solas doesn't join her like she might expect. After a moment or two of silence, she lies on her back so she can watch him. To her amusement, he had taken it upon himself to fold the clothes she had carelessly tossed away, laying them flat atop her pile. And then she gets to enjoy watching him undress. He seems to even forget she is there; there is a tiredness in his eyes she empathizes with. He peels away his sweater, a little dirtied from the day's battles with sweat, dirt and demon's blood. Or, at least, it looks like demon's blood. 

"Solas…" she scrambles to sit up, disrupting her blankets in the process, and reaches for him. Her fingers gently trace the tear in his undershirt at his side. "You're hurt. Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Because I am not." he says simply. "I healed it when the battle had reached its conclusion. There was no use in worrying you needlessly." 

"But-" she chews on her words. She wants to yell at him; demand to know why he had not asked for help. How had she not noticed he had been hit? Was it when he seemed so distracted with Cole barely cutting down the demon that got close? Her hand is shaky when she draws it back. "Don't keep it to yourself, alright? If you get hurt just tell me." 

He glances her way. Then, down at his hands that are folding his sweater. 

"There was no need." he says simply. "I am no longer in any pain, and it will not prove a hindrance to my capabilities." 

A little huff leaves her. She settles back down once more.  _ Fine _ , she thinks. If he wants to brush off her concern, then he may. It isn't as if her magic is strongest in the form of healing, the very thing that could've fixed his problem. Oh wait, it  _ is.  _ She is certain she could've mended his wound far faster with far less pain that he would've. Healing oneself is far more difficult than another, after all; mending flesh requires a certain degree of concentration, and being in pain will always distort that. 

She isn't jealous, is she? That he was able to heal himself despite that? That somehow, he had proved himself more competent than her in the one thing she thought she excelled at? She closes her eyes and sighs. No. She isn't jealous. She  _ isn't _ . 

A breath hitches in her throat. His fingers, icy cold, have found her knee. Slowly they travel upward, leaving a freezing claw mark in their wake across her thigh as he comes to rest alongside her. 

"Are you upset with me,  _ vhenan? _ " he asks, voice low and breathy in her ear. Gods, her heart is pounding so hard already she can scarcely hear him over it. 

"I-" 

_ Yes,  _ she should say. She should tell him how furious she is. Make him swear in the future he will never hide a wound from her, life-threatening or otherwise. But somehow she is too focused on his fingers; feathery light brushes of their tips over the apex of her thighs. Her smalls are in the way, barring the way for any sort of relief she might feel. 

"Yes." she finally manages to say. Though it comes out as something more like a pant, and nowhere near as angry as she wanted. He hums, and applies just a little more pressure. She rolls her head so that she might look at him, and huffs. "Trying to distract me won't work." 

"And here you led me to believe it would." 

There is a wonderful, enticing look in his eyes. Hungry and adoring all at the same time. She wants to kiss him, but that would be giving him  _ exactly  _ what he wants. 

"You should've told me." she says; her fingers reach up to his face, to follow the sharp line of his jaw. "You're not alone anymore, Solas - you don't need to suffer alone." 

"It was not about my suffering." his voice is now level and his simple, yet sharp words feel more akin to a bite. "It was not an important enough matter to occupy your thoughts." 

She sits up abruptly, and he seems to have forgotten all about the hand he had busied between her legs. Now it falls away with her movement, and rests upon his own knee. 

"Of course it's important enough." she whispers in a hiss. This conversation doesn't need to be overheard. "You're important to me, Solas, whether you like it or not. Don't keep things like this from me." 

He is openly glaring at her now. "If I am important, should only the most pressing of concerns be brought to your attention? As Inquisitor, you should be-" 

"I know what I  _ should  _ be doing. I get it from everyone, all the time, every day." she snaps, " _ Inquisitor, do this _ .  _ Inquisitor, you're doing it wrong _ . If everyone else thinks it's alright to tell me what to do all the time, why aren't  _ they  _ Inquisitor?" 

"It merely emphasises my point. You are too important to be weighed down by my failures on a battlefield." 

"Shut up." 

"Pardon?" 

Before he can speak again she kisses him. It is the last thing he expects, she thinks, and honestly she is somewhat surprised at herself. But it's enough to get him to do exactly as she wanted. His arms immediately wind around her and crush her to him; hungry lips molding with hers, a soft yet breathy moan on his tongue. When she parts from him, his glare has softened completely until there is nothing left but a gentle gaze. 

"My point is that I don't need you to be telling me what I should and shouldn't do. I already have a dozen people barking at me and it's already too much." she sighs, and looks downward. Almost in shame - kissing him to silence his argument had been a dirty move. "And I'm upset you didn't tell me you were hurt. It doesn't matter if I'm the Inquisitor - you are far more important than you give yourself credit for, and if something were to happen to you, I couldn't bear it." 

Solas does not say anything, for a while. She cannot imagine what it must be like; she has always been surrounded by people, friends and allies,  _ family _ . But he came to the Inquisition alone. Afraid yet sure he could help, and stayed because he knew he had, even if it endangered his very life. How had he even come to trust her? 

"I am sorry." he finally says. When he does, it's a surprise, and she looks up at him with a frown. "I did not consider how you might feel. I took it upon myself to make judgement on the matter and took care of it swiftly. It was not my intent to worry you - that is exactly why I tried to keep it to myself." 

Ariwyn lets out a little sigh, and presses her brow to his. His arms tighten around her and she willingly comes closer; she's in his lap now but it's certainly not a bad thing. 

"Then you'll tell me in the future?" she asks, and he hums. 

"I will, if that is your wish." 

She rolls her head against his in a little nod. She feels one of his hands withdraw; to instead cup the side of her neck and guide her to his lips. This kiss is gentler than hers had been. Slow, warm. It is enough to reignite the tight longing in her, and after a while of his tongue's adoring caress, it becomes torturous. 

"Solas," she whispers needily against him, "I want you." 

His lips curl upward in a smile. "I believe Bull is still not retired to his tent." 

"I don't care." 

He quirks a brow. "Truly? It will not be any fault of mine if you let slip your delicious sounds of pleasure." 

A shiver runs up her spine. "It absolutely will be your fault." she huffs, and he shakes his head.

"No." he says, firmly, "Because I will not be the one touching you. I wish to see how you would go about it." 

A hot flush washes over her. No - he isn't serious. Surely not. But then she opens her eyes and looks at him; his face wears an impressive mask of clarity and calm, but she sees through it. His eyes are devouring her all on their own, studying her with a want that sends her stomach twisting into tight knots. 

"Alright." she whispers, and he seems surprised by how easily she agreed. "But I need space." 

"Certainly." 

He presses one final, longing kiss to her lips before he detangles himself from her. He makes himself sit at the closed entrance to the tent with admirable diligence; composed if but rigid back, legs crossed, hands folded together in his lap. She offers him a little smile as she settles down comfortably against the bedding. There are no qualms in her about giving him a show. It is just a shame he seems so firm in his dedication of not touching her. At least not yet. 

She starts simple. She closes her eyes and imagines she's alone; tries to forget he is there watching, and remembers a time when he wasn't. When she longed for him so much that it ached. When her desperation grew so bad that she had no choice but to sate it alone. Her fingers run down across her chest, stopping only briefly to lightly breeze over her breasts. Then, down further still, hitching up the bottom of her undershirt a little to expose her stomach to the cool air. She cannot flinch from the cold contact of her fingers, for she is the one directing them there - yet another reason to miss his intervention. She knows he is watching with a dedicated concentration; she slides her fingers lower, clawing gently at the insides of her thighs. And then upward, to press gently against her smalls. They're soaked through, silky and soft against her touch, and it makes it wonderfully easy to begin a slow circular rub around her clit. Her heels dig into the bedroll beneath her and she eases her legs open a little wider. She's certain to catch her lip between her teeth; she can't afford to let anyone hear her. Bull would never, ever let her live it down. 

When she's bored of it, she decides she wants more. She opens her eyes to catch his gaze as she sits up just a little; slides her fingers in the band of her smalls and wriggle out of them, shimmy them to her knees. 

"Be a dear and help me, won't you?" she asks with a smile, and his hesitation is impressive. He lifts his hands out of his lap to finish what she had started; the soft but cold tips of his fingers ease them the rest of the way, sliding one leg free and then the other. Before she can return her feet to the ground, his hands catch her; he presses one kiss to her ankle, without breaking their eye contact. She breathes in a sharp intake of breath. Gods, she wants him to kiss elsewhere. To travel up her leg and find her heat; tell her he loves how simply soaked she is, and devour her until she's shaking. But then he lets her go, and she presses her feet firmly once more to the bedroll.

She tries to return her focus to her task. Thankfully, her distraction only encourages the new desperation she touches herself with. She slips two fingers between her thighs and gasps at the sensation of their immediate wetness; loves the little twitch he does when he hears it. She eases her legs wider for his view as her fingers begin the familiar routine. Slow circles, at first, broken up with the sharp upward stroke that always hit her a little harder than the rest. She's certain to make sure he sees how it feels. Then, when she quickens her movements, and she has to choke back a gasp for the sudden shot of pleasure that hits her, he finally moves. She stops out of reflex as he unfolds his legs, but he shakes his head. 

"Do not stop on my account." he whispers, and she shivers. So she continues just like she was; using the wetness of her heat to make her movements faster and perhaps a little messier. But all the while she watches him; feels the breath catch in her throat when he kneels before her, sliding his fingers up her calves, over her knees, squeezes her thighs.  _ Fuck.  _ He needs to hurry up. She doesn't want to make herself come; she wants  _ him _ to make her. She wants his tongue and his fingers and his cock. She had forgotten how simply boring it was to be forced to do it alone. 

Solas lowers his head between her thighs. At first he treats her to nothing more than the hot fan of his breath, and a chuckle when she jerks her hips eagerly up to him. And then he winds his hands around her thighs, digs his fingers so tightly into her skin it should hurt - but it only forces a desperate little mewl from her lips. She is meant to be quiet, but how could she? Not with him right there. Not with him lowering his lips to her heat and caressing her wetness with his tongue. He is rewarded with an immediate reaction; a desperate arch of her back and a choked gasp, and she forgets her motions entirely. He hums against her and brushes aside her fingers absently; eagerly comes up to replace them at her clit. Creators, this is torture. How does he expect her to keep silent? He rolls his tongue over her in one wide motion, cracks open his eyes to look at her with such a cheeky, devious desire. 

The fingers of one hand release her thigh, but she's more than eager to hold that open for him. She's shaking with anticipation of what she knows is coming, and presses her face into a pillow at her side to stop the moan that leaves her when he slides a finger within her wet pussy. It's slow at first; a steady rocking in and out, that matches perfectly with the gentle lapping of his tongue. But then he alternates with speed, a flurry of quick thrusts and then long, torturous ones that has her panting. 

"More,  _ please _ ," she whispers - it's so difficult to stop where she does, and resist the urge to end her plea with a moan. He says nothing in return, only doubles his efforts. 

She feels a second finger join the first. It slips in with such ease that she's a little startled by it, gasping by the sudden pressure of their joint efforts. He curls his fingers inside her and she can't help it - a little cry escapes her and she hurries to slap a hand to her mouth. There's a quiet little chuckle that leaves him, that vibrates against her. She feels so helpless; twisting back against the bedroll and trying her damndest not to scream her pleasure to the heavens. 

When her high finally comes, she panics. She thinks this might finally be the breaking point. But shockingly to them both, she comes up with a new solution; one that includes biting down on her hand so hard it aches to keep the sounds from escaping as he drives her to her release. When finally there's nothing more to leave her but her pants for breath, she releases her hand, trying to shake off the sudden pain that shoots through her alongside the now gentler waves of pleasure that radiate through her. 

"Are you alright,  _ vhenan? _ " Solas asks as he comes up to lie over her, and frowns at her hand. Her skin is all red except for the parts where her teeth had dug in - they're stark white. "An… Interesting approach. Though you could've simply asked me." 

"And what would you have done?" she snorts, "Didn't you want this? Make me suffer in silence for laughing at you earlier?" 

His lips twitch into a devious smile. "Yes, but I could've brought you to your pleasure with my fingers alone, and silenced your wonderful noises with a kiss." 

Speaking of a kiss… She winds her fingers around his neck and moans into his mouth. Out of curiosity, she rolls her hips up to meet his, and is utterly delighted by the hard bulge she finds rubbing against her. 

"Will you make love to me now?" she whispers, and he chuckles, somewhat taken aback. 

"You are utterly insatiable." he murmurs but there's a sound of delight in his voice as his fingers tug at the loose undershirt tangled up around her. "I will happily do so, yet I am fairly certain Bull is still listening in." 

She huffs. With a flurry of her hands she bats him away and scrambles to the end of the tent. Being certain to poke only her head out from between the flaps, she narrows her eyes.  _ Both _ of them are still there at the campfire. Varric may be pretending to be busy in his book but Bull is grinning at her when she appears. 

"Go. To. _Sleep_." she grumbles. 

Iron Bull slaps his knee with his hand. "And miss the main event?" 

"Bull…" 

He rolls his eye. "Alright, alright, I get it. Not exhibitionists, shame really. Seein' elves do it is like watching little rabbits." 

Her face is burning and it gets a hearty laugh from him. But finally he gets to his feet from his perch by the fire, gives her a grandiose bow, and disappears within his tent. And then she glances at Varric, who gives her an innocent look. 

"I'm not listening." he says with a shrug. 

"Intentionally?" 

"Exactly. My ears are sealed." 

A hum leaves her in thought as she purses her lips. Then, she lets him off. He' s further from their tent than Bull was, and she trusts him to keep his word more than the qunari mercenary. Sighing in defeat, she retreats into the tent, and ensures the flaps are tied shut behind her. 

"And Bull is going to sleep." she announces with a delighted smile. Solas chuckles, extends a hand out to her. She takes it, and his now warm fingers wrap around hers. In one smooth motion she's straddled his lap, running her fingers up his chest. And then, when he least expects it, gives him a hard shove. 

He lands back against the bedroll with a little grunt of surprise. But when she glances at his face, he's pleasantly so, a smile toying at his lips. Her greedy fingers tug at his undershirt, sliding beneath it to savour the feeling of his hard muscles against her hands; slides it up, and he pushes up to help her tug it up and over his head. He uses it as an excuse to come up and catch her lips in his, trying desperately to hold onto her with his fingers in her hair. But she pushes on him again with all her weight and he gives in. 

"You are particularly… Domineering tonight." he murmurs, and she lets out a soft giggle. 

"Don't you like it?" she teases; Creators, she adores the gasp he makes when she begins to shower his chest in little kisses. 

*I don't  _ dislike  _ it."

She hums in discontent. "That was the most half-arsed agreement I've ever heard." she grumbles, and he chuckles. 

"I merely enjoy acting as such myself. It is a refreshing change of…" 

Her lip is caught between her teeth to halt the laugh threatening to come out. 

"Mind finishing that sentence for me, my love?" she asks smugly, and he pushes up on his elbows so he might see her from where she now finds herself, knelt between his legs. 

"Change of pace." he finishes. His quirked brow is what amuses her the most. "And what do you plan on doing from there?" 

She licks her lips. "Nothing."

"And that is the most half-arsed excuse I have ever heard." 

Him using her own words against her makes her snort with laughter. Ariwyn has never heard him say the word  _ arse  _ before - oh, Sera would be delighted. It's so crude and he is not, and just thinking on it makes her laugh more. Unfortunately, it also spells her weakness. For he takes her distraction and, with ease, reverses their roles. He pins her to the floor of the tent and suddenly her laughter cuts short when his lips busy themselves in the crook of her neck, and he presses his hips down to hers. She, vaguely, hears him whisper against her skin. 

"What did you say?" she murmurs, and he hums in query. "You said something - it sounded Elven. What did that mean?" 

"You do not know?" he frowns, and draws back so that he might study her face. She caught some of it, but he spoke too quickly and almost in an accent she doesn't recognise. He smiles, and brushes a strand of her hair back from her face. " _ Isalan hima sa i’na _ ." he repeats, and there's something devious in his eyes now; lusting and wanting. "It means, I long to become one with you."

She hums. Somehow it does not sound as fluid or poetic when he repeats it in the common tongue. It is such a shame, she thinks, that so much of the Elven language has fallen out of use. She certainly agrees with his standpoint in that Elven feels so expressive and even romantic - far more than any Thedasian phrases could ever be. And the manner in which that simple wish rolls of his tongue… She positively shivers. 

Every time he speaks Elven, she simply finds she has more questions to ask. Where did he learn it? Who taught him such obscure things? As First of her clan, she knew more Elven than most, and even she is surprised by his knowledge sometimes. And so with the reminder of her clan, she smiles. Remembers something she'd heard more commonly amongst Dalish lovers. 

" _ Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en _ ." she replies, and for a moment he merely blinks, then laughs. He presses a swift yet gentle kiss to her lips. 

" _ Vin, vhenan _ ," he hums, " _ Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en _ ." 

Solas' kiss is slow, yet burning with passion. He encloses her in his arms and presses down on her, in a delicious weight on her body. She lazily winds her arms around his neck and eagerly meets his kiss with the equal desire in which his lips and tongue crave hers. She feels the need in her relighting and encouraging the surge in wanton heat through her blood, and whines when he breaks away. But then, it quickly subsides when she watches him straighten and undo the laces of his pants. The second they're loose she reaches up to catch him and yank him to her once again; hasty fingers pushing at his waistband, and finally her desperation is rubbing off on him. His own hand goes down to push the last barrier away from between them, yet he finds means to occupy him whilst he does; his other hand yanks up her thin undershirt to shower her soft breasts in kisses. And yet his trousers come away faster than he'd thought, and before long he is coming back up to meet her. 

Something in him encourages a little restraint to guide his actions. He stops entirely for a moment, and his eyes, burning with passion but clouded with concern, stare into hers. She nods, winds her fingers around the nape of his neck, and enjoys the soft and slow entry of his length within her. The second a slight whimper leaves her he freezes still - she had hoped this would not be the case, that she would be able to sink right into the feeling of bliss the second he began to make his gentle love to her. But she's frustrated, annoyed at the slightest stings of pain that she huffs. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks, overly cautious. Swiftly she shakes her head, and moves her hand to cup his cheek. Her thumb runs over the soft skin there, trailing across his freckles, and he leans into her touch. 

"Nothing you're doing." she whispers, "I'm just annoyed at myself. I want to enjoy this, so badly." 

"I know,  _ vhenan _ , I know." 

She feels the gentle weight of his brow press down on hers. 

"If you like," he begins, "I can cast my spell again. It might ease your-" 

"No. I don't want magic to interfere, I just want it to be about us. Just-Just keep going, it'll be fine." she huffs again, and lets her eyes close. She tries her hardest to savour the weight of his body on hers; the grip he has on her thigh; the heat of his breath on her face. "It'll feel good eventually, like it did last time."

It is Solas' turn to let out a soft sigh. "I wish it did not have to be a case of eventuality." 

"Me too." 

And yet with encouragement from her hand at his waist, he resumes the slow and steady rocking of his hips into hers. It is not exactly  _ painful _ , more simply uncomfortable. But she is desperate for that same pleasure that he helped her find all those nights ago, the wonderful bliss of feeling so fulfilled and wanted. Knowing that whilst she felt her desire satiated, his is as well. He kisses her like it is the first time all over again; hungry but savouring, passionate but loving. A gentle, leisurely caress, one that has her toes curling and a spark of joy alight inside her. Whilst he may have told her he loves her, it is the affection like this that makes it feel  _ real _ . She does not doubt his word, but it is this visceral and raw passion that he shares with her and no one else that makes her feel like the only person he has ever loved. 

"My love," Solas murmurs against her in a wonderfully breathless whisper; so heavy with his desire. "How do you feel?" 

She furrows her brows and tries to concentrate on the feeling. Of the wonderful flush of his hips to hers with every thrust, the fullness of his length inside her - the clenching knot that tightens with every movement. Biting her lip, she rolls her hips up to his testingly and he replies with a stronger one of his own. She is glad for her bite, for otherwise a cry had been edging on her tongue. 

"It feels better now." she whispers, and she feels his lips smile on hers. Her fingers tighten their grip instinctively when another roll of his hips hits her with a sharp stab of pleasure. "S-Sorry." 

"Do not apologise," he says, and he pulls up just far enough to look at her with a mix of devious desire and… What? She's seen this look before, but in the eyes of hungry wolves. "We will need to discuss this more in detail later, I should think, but-" their joint gasps cut short his sentence when she lifts her legs, and he reaches a new depth. When he chuckles and catches his breath, he continues, "I do not mind if you desire to be rough." 

She quirks a brow. Rough, he says - how far does that go, she wonders? 

"So this-" she drags her nails down his sides with only a hint of pressure, "Is fine?" 

"Not nearly enough." he teases. 

"What if I bit you?" 

Now he barks a laugh. It is so sudden and so loud that it surprises her into giggling with him, and once it settles down he presses his forehead to hers lovingly. 

"Only if I am allowed to do the same with you." he offers, and she hums in contemplation. All the while his steady motions are setting a faster pace, and their breath begins to suffer for it. 

"I've never been bitten before." she admits - a rather strange thing to have to admit, and she laughs for it - and it's enough for him to chuckle along. "Surely it'd be unpleasant?" 

"Not necessarily. May I?" 

She's hesitant, but nods. He has been nothing but patient and gentle with her so far, and she trusts him to do the same. She trusts him far more than she has trusted anyone else in her life. Perhaps it is something to do with their intimacy, and how their bodies are joining even now whilst she is preoccupied with her thoughts. 

Ariwyn feels his lips at her neck, soft and slow kisses against her skin. She tips her head back so that he might have easier access and he hums in appreciation, sinking his fingers into her hair. His bite is nothing but gentle nips at first; pulling at her skin not nearly enough to hurt, more like a pinch. And then, almost wildly, he runs his tongue across her skin, then bites. Her breath catches and her legs tense around him; it should probably hurt, but with the combination of his now almost deliciously hard thrusts, the pain becomes something else entirely. And then he calms, soothes the skin with little pecks, and lifts up to quirk a brow at her. 

"Alright, I admit," she murmurs, face flushed, "It's not as bad as I thought." 

Not  _ as bad _ . His face reflects the disbelief she herself feels at her choice of words; it is obvious to both of them that it was certainly more than  _ not bad _ . The ache in her neck tingles with more than just an echo of pain. 

"Fine, it felt nice. Good. It's sexy, I get it." 

He chuckles. "Then do I have your permission to do it more often, with the promise that you may return it in like to me?" 

She doesn't really know why, or what it is in her that gets excited at the idea. Some sort of animalistic, primal desire wants to reach up to him and sink her teeth into his smooth skin to silence the noises that leave her. And that desire is what makes her nod. 

Solas hums, and comes to kiss her. "I will certainly enjoy discussing matters such as these in length later." the promise of such a conversation sparks excitement in her tummy. "But for now…" 

"Hurry." she whispers, pushing up from the bedroll to chase his lips. "I want you, Solas. I need you." 

All it takes is a little upward jerk of her hips against his - he groans, squeezes his eyes closed, his fingers dig into her hips. And then when he looks upon her again, she shivers with excitement; he is looking at her like a starved wolf. All desire, all pure lust. And, with the means to take it all from her. 

"As do I." he growls lowly, and presses her once more flat to her back with a hungry kiss. 

The pace at which he claims her only picks up - hasty and needy and yet still somehow loving. Adoring. The way he holds her; how his body feels slotted against hers, between her legs. How the salty sweat rolls from his brow onto hers, and his lips taste of his exertion. He had looked so tired before, and yet here he is; pushing himself beyond his lethargy to bring her satisfaction. She wants to roll them over, and do the work for him. Yet she offers and he swiftly shakes his head, muttering something about her being exactly where he wants her. 

And then she reaches her high for the second time. The harsh snap of his hips into her, the thrust of his length inside her, it's suddenly too much. She nearly lets free the yelp of pleasure and panic all spiralled into one; he kisses her so swiftly as if he knew exactly what he must do. But then, she realises, it is perhaps he too has noises to silence - her thighs ache from how hard his fingers dig into her skin, and a low, guttural groan sounds against her as a warmth splays across her belly. And for a short, blissful moment, they lie and catch their breath. It is perfect, alone and wonderful and-

A roar of a cheer sounds from outside and she jumps out of her skin. 

" _ Bull! _ " she yells, barely pushing Solas to lie at her side before she deafens him for the volume of her shout. "I am going to  _ kill  _ you!" 

"Bravo! Great finish! Encore!" comes the qunari's voice from the other side of the tent. 

She growls. The heat in her face is burning so hot she thinks she might actually explode. She scrambles to collect her clothes from the near piles Solas had left them in, but he stops her. A grip that is barely there brushes her wrist, and immediately she stops. Glances back at him and the rage in her just… Vanishes. Disappears into tiny fragments, like dust, and suddenly it doesn't matter anymore. 

Solas looks so  _ tired _ . Lying there on his side, barely reaching for her, with such a perfect, empty slot against his chest where she will fit. He looks at her with a weariness in his eyes that makes him look a hundred years older than he is.

"Leave him,  _ vhenan _ ." he says softly, as Bull howls with laughter outside the tent. But while she is lost in his eyes, she barely hears the bellowing humour at all.

She returns to his side, and sinks down beside him. He smiles gently, and his eyes crinkle; she loves it when his smile is so broad it reaches his eyes. A shiver runs through her, but he is still far too hot to the touch to be under blankets. And so she draws them up around her, and cuddles up against his chest, savours the warmth of him and the weight of his arms around her back. In the wake of her pleasure, with the gentle crash of her high rolling over her in waves, she simply feels utterly and completely  _ happy.  _ It is a special, new kind of bliss she has only found with him. Legs tangled together, his soft breaths warming the tip of her ear, his fingers soothing through tangles in her hair. He pays special attention to the spot on her neck at which he bit; a little wave of magic soothing any pain and his fingers melting away any aches. 

Eventually, Iron Bull gives up on his teasing. Calls a half-hearted apology through the tent walls - she knows he isn't sorry, not really. Then, leaves them to enjoy the after bliss of their lovemaking, entwined in the arms of one another. 

"Can you take me to see the wisps, my love?" she whispers. She waits. He doesn't say anything. Shifting just a little to look up at him, she smiles; he is already lost deep in his dream, calm and weightless. He appears almost like a completely different man in his sleep. It is for this very reason she refused to wake him the morning after they had first made love, for she wanted to watch him - just for a little while. His worries fade away when his head hits the pillow, creases in his brow cease to exist, frown melting away into a silent serenity. She wants to simply stare all night, but the weight of her own tiredness is pressing down on her eyelids. 

And so she gives in, and buries her face up in the crook of his neck. Breathes in the smells of his sweat and the woodsy scent he carries, hums when his arm even in the depths of sleep clenches around her at her closer proximity. Creators, how does this feel so  _ right?  _ As if she was designed to fit here with him, like he was meant to be the puzzle piece to slot to hers. The men in her clan, the hunters desperate to seduce her, had never made any sort of lasting impression of want, or even of completion. But with Solas, what she feels is right. She isn't sure how. All she knows is the embrace in which he holds her eases away her worries, helps her forget her fears, and makes her feel like the strongest woman in Thedas. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven translations thanks to Project Elvhen:
> 
> Isalan hima sa i’na - I lust to become one with you (or just "I want to make love to you")  
> Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en - Let us dance as the wolves do (figured it was more of a Dalish way of saying it. Solas responds with "vin" which literally just means yes)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to SeverusMinerva who pointed out I'd accidentally posted chapter 2 twice! Whoopsies! Here is the actual chapter 3!

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After a long day of travel, it feels only right that it ends here. In the quiet, private world of their now-shared tent; Ariwyn lays her head upon Solas' chest and listens to the soft thumping of his heart, and with her arm wound around his middle, he cannot go anywhere. Nor does he seem to plan to, with an arm folded comfortably behind his head and the other around her back. His fingers draw little patterns on her hip. 

And strangely, she had resisted the urge to tear his clothes off him the second they were alone. For once, all she longed for was his silent comfort after a hard day, and he was more than willing to provide. 

They had continued on from Lydes and left behind some of Leliana's people at Halamshiral. The main travel party went nowhere near it, of course; she merely had the pleasure of seeing it from a distance, all beautiful and grand and bright. Had it looked the same when it was an Elven palace? She had wondered. Delighted in the idea that once, a powerful and beautiful elf ruled there over this area of the Dales, respected by the humans that visited their lands. And then her horse continued on and took her somewhere behind trees and blocked her view. The idea left her mind, and she had found herself feeling rather despondent since. 

Tomorrow, they will be back in Skyhold. The journey now is only a few hours' ride away, but night caught up to them faster than they'd thought. And so here they rest again, on the edges of the Frostback Mountains, just close enough for the cold to creep in. 

" _ Vhenan _ , if you are not lost in thought," she hears - and feels with the rumble of his chest - Solas ask, "Might I trouble you with some questions?" 

Him ask  _ her  _ questions? How curious. She sits up, and rests her forearms across his chest, leisurely laying her head upon them. He is staring up at the roof of the tent with something of a pensive look - as if the topic he wishes to breach would be difficult. 

"Of course." she says, and the smile has faded from her face. He looks so serious. 

"I know that you will most likely not have opinions on such matters, as a result of your experience, but I must ask regardless." he spares her a short glance, sees the concern upon her face, and offers her a smile. "Do you… Have any questions, regarding our intimacy? Things you would like answered, curiosities explored perhaps. I would be more than happy to divulge however I can." 

At the mere mention of it, she feels her face turning hot. But then she smiles - he claims to desire to ask her questions, but only offers her the option to ask her own. 

"You said  _ some  _ questions. That was one." she teases. "By my counting you have a few left." 

"An astute observation. But I will be saving any further questions until I have heard some of your own, if I may." 

He has such a fascinating way with words. Anything and everything that leaves his wonderful lips sounds so learned, so wise. It makes for such a refreshing change from the loud and sometimes boyish attitudes of the men in her clan. Solas certainly sometimes feels just as, if not more, arrogant as the hunters returning from a glorious hunt, but at least he has the decency to mask it with poise and knowledge. 

"Hm," she rolls her tongue around her teeth and considers it. It is a thoughtful question, one that unfortunately she hadn't been ready for. As both a teen and a young woman in her clan, she had always been bursting with such questions, desperate to know the details of intimacy and sex and men. And yet here she is, offered the answers, and she cannot think of a proper question to ask. 

"What sorts of questions?" she asks, hoping he might prompt an idea or two. 

"Anything, truly." he lifts his head and tugs at the pillow beneath him deftly, so that he might prop himself up to look at her. "Concerns, thoughts. Maybe superstitions you would like me to make plain. Or, perhaps you have things you would like to discover with me. There is no such thing as a foolish question." 

A warm smile splays itself across her lips. Creators, he is so patient and loving. Even now, when he is speaking to her so plainly, it only comes as further evidence as to his love. Such concern for her… She doesn't know whether to jump for joy or to cry. 

"Alright." she nods, and hums. Then, a thought does cross her mind. One that had, admittedly, somewhat frightened her. "If we're careless… I could…" 

His hand stills against her back, but presses against her with warmth. 

"I know. I have considered it too," he says, and it surprises her. "But I have been conscious so that I do not-" there's a sigh. "There is no manner in which to say this that will sound pleasant. I have not been finishing within you." he ends with a huff. Somehow, it amuses her again. 

"I noticed." she giggles. Remembers the warmth of his release on the skin of her stomach and her thighs, and she shivers. But they are meant to be having a very mature and disciplined conversation, and so she forces the thoughts aside. "There's no other way it could happen?" 

"There is a chance, I suppose. If you would like, we can consider different ideas. There are spells, I am sure, and other ways in which those not gifted with magic have gotten around it." 

She chews on her lip. Somehow, she feels…  _ Dirty.  _ To be discussing such things, to be actively avoiding the wonder of creating new life simply for her own pleasure feels like a crime. She can almost hear her Keeper Deshanna, giving a regular lecture on the value of childbirth and their very existence being a gift to the People. And how those young and excitable members of the clan would only burden themselves, and their child would they conceive one, in their quest for their own reckless gain. 

"I do wish you would stop teasing me so,  _ vhenan _ ." 

His soft voice brings her out of her head. She looks up at him as his hand comes from behind her to catch her chin, and tug her bottom lip from between her teeth with his thumb. 

"Teasing you?" she echoes with a quirked brow. 

He hums. "You are always drawing my attention to your lovely lips. I should like to bite it myself, but I at least have some restraint." 

Her face feels hot, but she simply smiles. "I'm afraid this lip is for my biting only." 

"A shame. You shall have to simply excuse me should I turn green with envy." 

Ariwyn laughs. He does not join her, but his face is lit up with a smile so wide his eyes crinkle. When her laughter dies down, she simply stares at him for a while. Copies his gentle gesture from before, and traces the outline of his lower lip with the very tip of her fingernail. He sits impressively still throughout it. 

"Alright, I have a question," she says suddenly, and he looks at her expectantly. "Where did you learn that spell? The one you cast on me that night?" 

_ That night _ . She feels silly for avoiding outrightly saying it, but something in her still feels coy to admit it. It is reasonably easy to say or agree with in the height of her lust, but when they are simply lying together - actually clothed for once - and talking, it almost feels scandalous. 

Solas closes his eyes, "Ah. That spell was a gift, actually. A lesson from a spirit of Love." 

"Oh? I feel like there's a story here."

"Indeed. But it is a long one, and I would rather discuss you and I. Another time, perhaps." 

She huffs, and a loose copper strand of hair goes up with it. Since apparently her lip is off limits, she chews the inside of her cheek as she considers what she might ask next. He had given her an opportunity here, a chance to ask anything at all she could want, with no judgement. Of course, she could remember a question later and he would still receive it with the same respect, but it would not be the right time. Now, when they are alone and can forget the Inquisition for a while, is perfect. 

"Were you really that surprised?" she asks quietly, laying her head once more to his chest. The tip of her ear that is flush with his shirt is immediately warmed. "When you found out I hadn't… You know. Slept with anyone before." 

"Admittedly, yes." is his response, and she feels like groaning. Had she been that obvious? "Mostly because you are a very unique and beautiful woman. The men within your clan must have been very foolish indeed not to woo you." 

She snorts. Perhaps not exactly encouraging his perception of her uniqueness and beauty, but she isn't concerned. Especially not when his fingers have sunk between her hair and are running soothing circles against her scalp. It is an intimate enough gesture to reaffirm that he hasn't suddenly changed his mind. 

"Some tried." Ariwyn admits with a shrug. "But it was never really for  _ me.  _ My father is important, you see. He leads the warriors and hunters of my clan, and everyone respects him." 

"So every attempt to court you was merely for a chance at the hand of the hunter's daughter?" 

She hums. She wonders what her father would think of Solas; he probably wouldn't approve of his age, nor his personality. Her father is a stern man, always looking to brute force his way through his problems. And somehow, despite Solas' rather peaceful outlook, she could imagine his arrogance clashing quite painfully with her father's bruteness. Suddenly she is glad Clan Lavellan is miles away from Skyhold. 

"Then they were all fools." Solas continues, and she lets out a soft laugh. "If one's own quest for personal gain outshines the beauty of that before them, then perhaps it is time to reevaluate the value of said quest." 

She lifts her head. Gazes at him with a softness she knows he will smile at. And when he does, she comes to shuffle close. 

"I love your sweet-talking." she whispers, and leans low to press a kiss to his lips. He hums, a low and satisfied one, holding her to him for as long as it goes on. Then, he loosens his hold, and when she comes away he's smiling contentedly though his eyes are closed. 

"Are there any other concerns I can address for you, my love?" he asks. Will she ever grow tired of hearing him call her such wonderful things? 

"For the moment, I don't think so." she presses her mind to think of more things, but nothing immediately springs to mind. There is no rush to learn everything, she thinks. Solas is patient and caring, and even if she is eager to learn more with his help, she doesn't mind if all of those answers aren't found within a day. "If I think of anything, you'll know." 

She sits up, and stretches. There's a knot in her lower back, most likely from her saddle sores. The moment she makes a little disgruntled grumble at the feeling, he shifts. She rolls her eyes when she feels his fingers dip beneath the hem of her shirt, press gently and testingly against her skin. 

"A little higher." she guides, flexing her back so he might reach it easier. "Almost - no, you went past it. Down a little.  _ Ah!  _ That's the spot." 

"Nice!" comes a loud cry from outside, and she groans. 

"Bull, how long have you been listening?" 

"A few seconds. I come out to stretch my legs and you guys are immediately getting down and dirty. I love it!" 

"Shut up and go back to sleep." 

He barks a laugh. "Yes, Boss!" 

"You must stop letting him get under your skin." Solas says once Bull's thumping footsteps fade away. He moves, sits behind her, legs either side of hers. His hands are still moving, pressing at her aching muscles and putting just enough pressure to feel like a whole different sort of pleasure. 

"I'll stop letting him get under my skin when-" she sighs in relief as his fingers work out some tension between her shoulder blades. "When he stops being a pervert." 

He chuckles softly into her ear. "I do not think that is something Bull is capable of simply turning off." 

"Solas." she says warningly, and he hums innocently. Fingers continue to squeeze and push at her, hot breath on her ear and a little tingling starts between her legs of their own accord. "You keep going and I'm afraid I'll need more than a massage." 

He hums curiously. She lets out a little gasp when she feels his teeth nip the tip of her ear; his hands aren't working at her back anymore. They slide beneath the fabric of her shirt to her front - cup a breast each. Her fingers dig into his thighs. 

"We should sleep." she whispers. "We're riding to Skyhold early tomorrow." 

"We  _ should _ ." he agrees. The heaviness of the word somehow makes her think he doesn't believe it. 

"Creators." she breathes. Prays to them for something, even just an  _ ounce  _ of restraint. But then his thumbs run over the peaks of her breasts and she lets out a little squeak, and finds she is squeezing her thighs together with a sudden urgency. "Fuck, that-  _ ah _ , you can't do t-that." 

"Can't I?" he asks, and she can  _ hear  _ him smiling. As if to prove her wrong, he does it again; squeezing as he goes, twisting her nipples between his fingers and thumbs. Her head lolls back onto his shoulder and she groans. 

"We- I- oh, who am I kidding?" she huffs, "P-Please touch me. Please." 

Solas chuckles. "Where,  _ vhenan? _ Where would you have me touch you?" 

"Between my legs. Hurry."

His hand skims down across her skin, feathery light, and she eagerly parts his legs when it dips beneath the waistband of her leggings. A breath catches in her throat when she feels the immediate relief of his fingers against her, in little quick circles. 

"Yes!" she gasps, arching her back. Yet he presses on her with the hand still at her chest, pushing her back against him and holding her there, squirming and gasping with every little movement he makes. 

"You were saying something about sleeping, Ariwyn?" he asks. What a cheeky… A huff tumbles from her lips. "Would you rather I stopped so you might get some rest?" 

"No!" she realises how eager she sounds, and presses a hand to her lips. Then, gentler, she murmurs, "Please don't stop. It feels so-  _ ah _ ! It feels good. Please don't." 

He hums in approval. It barely overpowers the sound of his fingers moving against her slick heat, dangerously fast now. Creators, she certainly wants to come, but she isn't sure if that's  _ that  _ desperate. Her hand quickly catches his wrist and immediately, he stops.

"What's wrong?" he asks. She stops to catch her breath, and rolls her head so that she can see him. Gaze upon the hunger and passion in those usually-cool grey eyes. 

"Slow down," she requests, softly, "I want to enjoy it. Take me there slowly,  _ vhenan _ , please." 

He seems surprised. "It is unlike you to wish for patience." he teases, and his fingers resume their movements. But now, they're far slower; full circles of slow, purposeful strokes around her clit. She gasps, and digs her fingers into his thighs. 

"Sometimes I can appreciate going slow." she laughs softly, and then feels her brow draw tight when she's struck with a bolt of pleasure. She feels two fingers sink with a pointed slowness into her wet pussy, and a gasp chokes in her throat. "Yes! Fuck, Solas-  _ yes _ !" 

"Hush, my love," he breathes into her ear, but it is so hard to focus on what he's  _ actually saying  _ as opposed to the mere liquid gold that is his voice. "You know that I adore your sounds of pleasure. But the others will hear you." 

A desperate little pant tears from her, and she spreads her legs astride his own. Oh, she's in too deep now. So caught up in lust and want that she couldn't care less if the others in this camp heard her. How had she gone an entire week at Skyhold without having him please her? It is not a surprise, really, that he has been ravishing her every night of this trip. How had she denied them both this sweet pleasure for so long? 

"I-" she is desperate to tell him - to whisper how wonderful his fingers feel until she has no voice left at all. But he distracts her with that very thought; curls his fingers up within her and she firmly digs her heels into the bedroll as she concentrates on keeping the cry of bliss between her lips. Eagerly she rolls her hips up against his hand, mewling softly when they inch further inside her heat. 

"Ariwyn, you are…" Solas whispers into her ear, on the verge of a low growl. "Will you permit me to say something base?" 

"Yes." she pants. Just the mere thought of it sends a shudder through her. 

His hot breath is on her skin, lips at her ear. 

"I wish to fuck you with my fingers until you come undone right here in my arms. Will you let me?" 

_ Fuck _ . Hastily she nods, gasping desperately for breath as he swiftly sets a new pace for his motions. With each breath comes a returning thrust, a quick curl of his fingers. When he pleased her with his tongue, it was certainly toe-curling, back-arching bliss, and yet… This is something else entirely. There's an entirely different sort of violent pleasure twisting up inside her and begging to be let out; a new sort of possessive dominance as he holds her against his chest, whispers wicked things in her ear and drives her closer with mere touch alone. 

And Gods, does she feel like she's losing her mind to it all. 

"You are beautiful." he tells her, in that low and raspy breath that sounds too much like a growl, a growl that sends tingles of pleasure right to her core. "Good,  _ vhenan. Lasa em tua rosas’da’din _ ."

She's only vaguely aware of what he says for the sheer overpowering sensation of her pleasure. Her throat aches for her gasps for breath, as do her hands for how they clench at him. But the wet thrust of his fingers is driving her to the edge - so close, so close, she feels the first tease of her release. Desperate, she bucks her hips against his hand, choking on a cry when he reaches a new depth entirely - and she is hit with her release. 

Helplessly, she slumps against him, biting down so hard on her lip she thinks she might bruise it. His fingers continue to drive every last little bit of her pleasure from her, helping her ride every single crashing wave of her high until it's too much, and the pained whimper she makes has him withdrawing. Against his chest she leans heavily, her own chest heaving for breath as bliss rolls over every ounce of her body. Her back aches are gone, replaced now by the pleasant ache of everywhere else. Especially her legs; with a weak little groan she closes them together again, having spread them so wide she thinks she might've pulled a muscle in her thigh. 

"Gods, never let me move like that again," she whines, rubbing at the fresh pain in her leg. He chuckles, and joins her in squeezing free the ache. 

"I was under the impression that you wanted to sit like that." he states and when she glances at him, he has a cheeky brow quirked. She bats a hand at his shoulder and sinks against him with a blissful sigh. "I meant it,  _ vhenan _ ." he continues, and she hums in question. "When you are so enraptured in the throes of your pleasure, I find myself enthralled. You - you do things to my restraint that few have encouraged before." 

She grins at him. "Like encouraging you to say such filthy things to me?" 

"Yes." he scoffs, but for a moment something like regret crosses his face. 

"I liked it." she admits, and the expression thankfully fades. "And when you told me I was doing good, I-" she bites her lip, and feels a flush overtake her cheeks when he looks attentively at her. "I like it when you praise me. It's silly I know, I just-" 

"It is not silly." he says quickly, and she looks at him, uncertain. "These are the very things I wished to discuss with you. What things you find desirable, what I might do to help you find a deeper pleasure. If speaking to you in such a way while I please you is what you want, then I will do so." 

A smile breaks free onto her lips. "You don't have to." she says, coyly. How is she coy? After that shameless little display, how does she have it in her to be shy? 

"But I wish to." Solas presses a kiss to her brow. "If it pleases you, then I will. I happen to enjoy encouraging my lover; if I had known sooner, I would've had an entire speech prepared ahead of time."

She barks a laugh. It's loud, too loud, she realises with a flush. But with how Solas is smiling at her, she realises she doesn't really care. He sinks down once more to the bedroll and takes her with him; a fresh tiredness washes over her, and she rolls into his side. 

"Goodnight,  _ vhenan _ ." she murmurs, and his arms tangle around her back. 

"Sleep well, Ariwyn, my love." 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟━◦○◦━◦○◦━

When Skyhold finally comes into sight in the middle of that cold, cold valley, it's a relief. Creators, she is terrible in the cold. All shivery and helpless and prone to complaining more often than Varric. She cannot  _ wait  _ to sit near a fire and chase away the chill. She still remembers when she had first woken up in Haven, as a prisoner of Cassandra's - cold and stripped down to the very barest layers of her clothes. Solas had offered her his coat, scolded Cassandra for her carelessness. Even then, his warmth had saved her, and quite literally as well. 

She glances over at the other horses. Solas is beside her, Varric and Cole sharing a horse - Varric is terrified of falling off the things - and then Bull. It's impressive, really, that the thing is still standing under the weight of the qunari. Perhaps Master Dennet needs a round of applause for nurturing such strong mounts. 

Bull promised to keep their secret, as if it would make any difference. His word didn't cover that of the Inquisition soldiers that had watched Solas enter her tent every night - soldiers whom Commander Cullen had once described as, "more likely to gossip as old fishwives," in the barracks. But it doesn't matter. She decides she doesn't care. She doesn't mind if the world knows. Perhaps they should. 

Solas offers her a smile when he sees her looking. It is gentle and warm in the bright glow of the morning sun, and she can't help but grin back. 

At the foot of Skyhold's mountain, the tents of the soldiers are becoming more like a town. She remembers Josephine saying that some of their building resources were being divided to the soldiers below, and she can see them being put to work; the closer they grow to Skyhold, the more the tents are replaced with buildings, done in a bizarre mix of Ferelden and Orlesian styles. Some builders notice her looking, and bow at her passing. Greet her with, "Your Grace," or, "Lady Inquisitor," and she still isn't sure she's quite used to it yet, despite it being weeks since Cassandra and the others strong-armed her into the title. 

"Whoever designed this place is both a genius and an arse." she grumbles as they pile onto the lift at the foot of the mountain. This is the worst part about leaving Skyhold - the almost painful long ride up the lift. 

"Maybe that's the point." Varric shuffles on his horse, flinching when it shakes its head before him. "Can it stop moving for a second?" 

"What, the lift? Gods, no." 

"The horse, Inquisitor!" 

She grins at him. 

"She isn't afraid of you." says Cole softly from behind the dwarf, who comes forward and crushes him so that he might pet the horse's mane. "Proud. Thinks the little person is strange. Would he make funny noises under her hooves?" 

"Goddamn!" Bull cries with a laugh, "A horse with bloodlust! I want that one next time." 

Solas makes a tsk noise with his tongue. He doesn't look annoyed, not really - quite amused, actually. 

"Teasing is unkind, Cole." he lectures, and a laugh of surprise leaves her.  _ Cole had made it up _ ! He wears such a tiny little smile beneath his wide-brimmed hat. So even spirits can lie in the name of humour.  _ Interesting _ . 

"Evidently you don't uphold your own standards, then." she replies coolly. She hears a roar of laughter from Bull behind her. 

Somehow she thinks she'll hear about this later, and yet she finds herself looking forward to it. 

When finally the lift reaches the top of the mountain, she's barely off her horse before Josephine is barrelling towards her. There's already a million different things she should attend to, and people to speak to, and documents to look at, and plans to approve, and things to judge, and- her head is already spinning. 

"Oh!" the Ambassador says animatedly as they climb the stairs and go past the little training yard before the tavern, "But I have something to show up first, Inquisitor. You'll be quite pleased." 

She quirks a brow but does not press. She imagines she'll see it rather soon. As they enter the castle proper, she bids farewell to Varric and Solas - the only two who have stuck around with them this far. Varric's hasty to go and change into something "more comfortable and less coated in demon blood and shit." Solas however, lingers for a short moment. Shares a brief yet adoring look of longing before he retreats to his chambers to do the same. Where are his chambers? She wonders. He doesn't sleep in the rotunda. 

"This way, Inquisitor!" Josephine says with delight, and greets people they pass by in the Great Hall. Gods, how she wished her change of clothes weren't through the door at the far end of this very busy space. She's sure she absolutely reeks. But seeing the crinkle of disgust on a nearby noble's face as she passes us enough to amuse her so much finds she doesn't mind anymore. 

Josephine pushes at the door into the tower - towards her own chambers. Curiously, she follows her in, and through the short corridor that used to merely be a means to access the door to the stairs on the right. Now, however, Josephine guides her through another door directly before them she'd never even bothered to try. And when it opens, she isn't met with the dim, dank darkness of the bottom of the tower. Her eyes light up. 

The mess has been cleared away. In the centre of the space, there's an ornate looking desk, similar to the impressiveness of Josephine's, behind which sits a chair that rivals the plushness of Solas'. Against the walls at the back, there are bookshelves lined up, quite sparsely filled with a handful of existing titles - perhaps even tidied from the pile she had begun dumping at the bottom of her bed as she finished them. There aren't any windows this low down in the tower, and so the only natural light that seeps in is through the short windows high above. To combat the dark, there is a lit hearth at her left, and candlesticks almost littering the area. 

"You asked for an office, and so here you are." Josephine says with a smug little smile. "It is not perfect, of course. But I assumed you would prefer some input in the finer details of its decoration."

Somehow, despite the throne she'd been forced to sit upon, the sword they'd put in her hands and the heavy title she now bears - the office is the thing that finally makes it feel real. It feels so official and proper and  _ right _ . She tries to keep her smile somewhat dignified as she looks to Josephine. 

"It's wonderful, Ambassador." she says, and steps in, to the warmth of the fire. She only hopes she isn't carrying much muck on her feet that will rub off on the rug beneath her. "Thank you."

Josephine smiles back widely, then clears her throat. "Yes, well it is the usual. Speak with Master Harrit regarding further improvements at your leisure, Inquisitor. And from now on, all messages and pressing matters will be brought here to you. Perhaps it should be prudent to bring in another table for such things rather than clutter your desk."

She nods, and remembers it for later. None of her advisors have such a table other than their desks, but… Josephine somehow manages to keep on top of it, Leliana doesn't even seem to ever sit at her desk, but  _ Cullen _ . By the Creators, the man looks as if he doesn't know the first thing about organisation. It's not a wonder he looks so tired all the time, for how stacked high his desk is with reports and correspondence. 

"Table it is." 

After she has gone upstairs to her chambers to wash and change, Josephine helps her begin to tackle the rise of pressing issues in her absence. They sit together in her new office and split the ridiculous pile of letters addressed to the Inquisitor between them. Letters Josephine defines as "time wasting" are tossed right into the fire. Ariwyn thinks she can find some entertainment in this. 

And then the next letter she pulls from the pile feels… Different. There's something so familiar about the writing on the front. It's different from the cursive hand of the nobility's scribes, and there's a haste about it, as if it was written on the move. She finds herself standing as she turns it over in her hands and peeling it open. She's pacing by the time it is held flat between her hands. 

Her heart stops when she even sees the first word. 

"Inquisitor…" Josephine begins, "Are you alright?" 

"It's- It's a letter from my Keeper." she murmurs in something akin to disbelief. But there's also a wash of joy that has tears sparkling in her eyes before she's even read it. It feels as if it has been  _ so long  _ since she saw Deshanna, never mind spoke with her. Rubbing at her chin, she forces herself to sink down once more into her chair. Takes a breath and then begins reading: 

_ Da'len,  _

_ I can only pray this letter reaches you and only you. After news of what happened at the Conclave reached us, I feared the very worst. But then we heard that this new Inquisition was holding an elven woman prisoner, and I prayed to the Creators that it was you. I could not bear the thought of losing you. The clan misses you greatly. You and I both understood the risk you took by leaving us, yet I never would have imagined such a turn of events. They say now that you are the Inquisitor. Is it true, da'len? But more importantly, are you safe? Are you well? I miss having you by my side so that I can watch over you myself, such a curious child you are. I am not surprised, truly, that you have found yourself tangled up in more shemlen problems.  _

_ Take care of yourself, da'len. Please write back so that I might see some peace. _

_ \- Your Keeper, Deshanna _

Ariwyn frowns through the twist of emotions clutched up in her chest. And yet there is more to it, not in Deshanna's hand. 

_ Ariwyn,  _

_ DO NOT SHARE THIS WITH ANYONE.  _

_ The Keeper claims I have gone mad, but I will not lose you to shemlen like I did your mother. I am coming to you with our best warriors, and I will return you to our people. Stay strong, my daughter, and know that rescue is on its way.  _

_ \- Geron _

She folds the letter over once more. It is just like him to sign the only letter he has ever written to her with his name. Not with "your loving father," or even more simply, "father." She supposes asking for him to say he loves her would be too much, of course. Her father had always been a harsh brute, but even now, while he thinks her prisoner to humans, he could stand to be a little more concerned. 

"We might have a little problem." Ariwyn says with a huff, and pinches the bridge of her nose. She feels a headache coming on. "The letter was from my Keeper, but my father added something at the bottom. He thinks I'm still a prisoner and is coming here to rescue me." 

"Oh, goodness." Josephine breathes, and presses a hand to her brow. "Please describe him to me, Inquisitor, so I might have the soldiers on the lookout. I would hate for fighting to break out before we are able to inform him of the truth." 

And so she does. Tries her very hardest to remember what her father had looked like the day she left for the Conclave. It is difficult, she realises, not because she doesn't remember her own father's face, but because all she finds she can remember is the look upon it. The twisted look of disappointment and frustration mixed into one; the product of their heated discussion the night before. Of her firmness in her decision to attend the Conclave to see how it might impact their clan. Of his authority as her father to ensure she remains. 

She hadn't, of course. And she thinks if maybe she'd listened to him, she wouldn't be in this mess. 

"Maker, look at the hour!" Josephine exclaims once Ariwyn has long since finished her description. The Ambassador had gotten through another stack of letters, but she had found it increasingly difficult to find motivation to keep going for the thoughts lingering on her mind. "I apologise, Inquisitor," Josephine says as she gets to her feet, "There are other matters to attend to this evening. Will you be alright to sort the remaining correspondence?" 

"Of course. It's no problem." she forces a smile on her face, and it's enough for the Ambassador. She collects her things and hurries out of her office, and the door slams shut heavy against the frame. 

And then she's alone. Alone in silence save for the crackling of the dying fire, trapped here with her thoughts. Her last conversation with her father is playing on loop in her head. 

" _ I am going to this Conclave, and it is not your right to stop me!" she had yelled. They'd been arguing for so long already she had lost track of how long ago she had stopped trying to be quiet.  _

_ "It is my every right! I am your father!" was his response. A snarled spit that had her jerking back in fear. "I will not permit it! You are staying here."  _

The dying fire in the hearth pops, then crackles. Just like the campfire had beneath her feet with her surge of anger. 

_ "I am not  _ **_just_ ** _ your daughter!" she had cried, a furious frustration twisted up inside her. "I am this clan's First, and it is my responsibility to-"  _

_ "Walk headfirst into shemlen territory and get yourself killed?" he snapped with a fierce aggression. "You're a fool, Ariwyn! If you do, you'll die. Just like your foolish mother."  _

She's biting so hard on her knuckles. And yet she doesn't realise for the pain, but the trickle of blood that hits the letter upon the desk. Hastily she wipes at it with her sleeve but it's too late; it's already sunk into the parchment. Now the pain is hitting her, and a soft whimper leaves her as she clutches her hand to her chest. Creators, she had done so well to avoid thinking about it for so long. Always had something else to think about, something about the Inquisition to occupy her. But now he's in her thoughts and he won't leave, stubborn as ever. 

And then there's a knock at the door. She jumps. Breathes in deep, presses the fabric of her sleeves into her wet eyes, and hides her hand beneath the desk. 

"Come in." she calls.  _ Shit _ . Her voice cracked. She only hopes it isn't too obvious. 

Her heart leaps in her chest when she recognises who steps in. Solas lets the door shut behind him and steps in, surveys the space with a quizzical gaze. 

"It is insufficient for you, I would think." is his consensus, "But I would imagine you already have plans to improve it further?" 

"Yes." she says with a nod, and her eyes are staring at the letter. She slides it slowly across the desk and hides the dried drop of blood underneath another letter. 

"Is something on your mind,  _ vhenan? _ " 

Oh, she hates how she is around him. He reads her as easily as any book he can pull from a shelf; open her up and flick between the pages and find exactly what chapter of mood the bookmark of now sits upon. 

"I…" 

Will she have to explain everything for her agitation to make sense? She doesn't want to go that deeply into it. She doesn't want to start thinking about her father again, not now that Solas is here. Biting her lip, she lifts her hand up from under the desk. 

"I got distracted and hurt myself. My head is a mess and I can't…" 

The very idea of trying to heal herself right now almost makes her feel sick. Immediately he comes to her, rounds the desk and kneels at her side. His hands capture hers, and a soothing wash of his warm magic envelopes her skin. 

"If I am not mistaken, this was self-inflicted." he says, cautiously. His fingers follow the curve of where her teeth had been. "There is something else troubling you. I am here, should you wish to discuss it." 

She swallows. He's looking at her with a warmth hotter than the hearth itself, and his touch is gentle and soothing. Sighing, she leans down, and rests her brow against his. 

"I don't want to talk about it, really." she admits, but presses a finger to his lips before he can tell her that it is fine. "But I need to tell you anyway. I received a letter from my Keeper and my father. My father is coming here to Skyhold. I just wanted you to be ready." 

His brow quirks. "Ready?" he echoes. "You expect a… Fight?" 

"Not our usual kind of fight." she admits with a heavy sigh. "But he will shout at me and I'll shout back and - ugh. Creators, he's going to lose his mind when he meets you." 

He pauses, to ponder her words. "You intend for him to meet me?" he asks. He seems almost wary of the idea, but not for the reason she would think. 

"If he's calm." she says softly, and offers him a smile. "Why should I hide the man I'm in love with from my own father? As much as an arse that he is." 

"Which one, the man you are in love with, or your father?" 

She snorts. The second it comes out she presses a hand to her mouth and feels a blush overtake her cheeks. He's smiling softly at her. 

"Definitely the second." she laughs, and sighs when his magic withdraws. Her hand is whole once more save for a red line where her teeth had weighed. "Can I ask you to do something for me?" 

"Of course, my love." 

She shivers. She glances at the door, then back to him. 

"Help me forget everything for a little while." 

There's a look of recognition in his eyes. He licks his lips as glances at their joined fingers and considers it. Then, he leans up to her and kisses her. She twists against the stiff armchair, and winds her arms around his neck. She wants him, she wants to bury her thoughts and just lose herself in laying with him. Yet even as she feels his breath on her lips, something just doesn't feel right. He notices it even before she allows herself to recognise it. 

"Ariwyn, you are upset." he says softly, and his thumb rubs a gentle path across her cheek. "I do not know if now is a good idea." 

She bites hard on her lip. She hadn't wanted to confront her thoughts - she wanted to throw them in a deep chasm and be forced to face them later. Yet the concern on his face compels her to open up to him. And so she does; recounts the days before the Conclave, the last time she saw her father. Tells him how she has run from it all since. 

"I… I may be incorrect in my assumption," he says, "But it sounds almost as if you are  _ afraid  _ of your father." 

"I- No. I'm not." she swiftly shakes her head and lets out a sigh. "I'm afraid of… I'm afraid of his disappointment. I don't want him to come here and judge what I've done, what the Inquisition is doing." 

"But why?" Solas frowns at her. "What you have built here deserves nothing but the upmost respect. Despite the challenges set against elves, you gave risen to such a seat of power, and everything here is under your command."

She sighs and lets go of him. She turns so she can hide her face in her hands, lean heavy against the desk. His warm hand comes to press gently on her back. 

"In my clan, I was the Keeper's  _ sael _ ," she murmurs, lets her hands drop so that she can stare distantly at the wall. "I was picked out of the other children born with magic to be the next Keeper. I don't know how much you know about Dalish clan structures, but that- that is the greatest honour you can hope for your child." 

Solas is looking at her intently when she glances his way. Usually, when she brings up the Dalish, he has things of his own to say. When they had first met, it had been always something snide, or passive aggressive. But now he is silent; listening only so that she might pour out the worries of her heart and he can try to mend the pieces together again. Without even thinking about it, she reaches to him, runs her fingers across his cheek. 

"And do you know what my father's attitude was?" she whispers, "I was never good enough. I was always slacking, or falling behind. He always told me the Keeper would replace me with the Second when I fell ill or hit a roadblock in my learning."

"He was hard on you." Solas says softly, and she nods. "I… Suppose I might be able to see it from his perspective, but it is unforgivable to be so harsh to your own child."

"I've tried seeing it from his side, as well." she mumbles. Her hands are twisting a cord from a stack of letters into knots.  _ Dalish knots _ . She doesn't even realise she's doing it until she's made three. She drops it abruptly to the desk. "He wanted me to succeed. But after my mother passed on, I was all he had left. You'd think he'd care to worry about me if even a little." 

"I am sorry." he runs a finger through a loose strand of hair and tucks it behind her ear. For a while she doesn't understand why he might be sorry - and then, it strikes her that she's never told him about her mother before. 

"She was killed by humans when I was very young. I didn't know her very well, so it doesn't hurt when I think about her." 

"A child should not lose their mother, regardless of the age." 

When she looks at him, there is a conflict raging in his eyes. Somehow, it feels as if he is not even thinking about them anymore - as if there is something on his mind much more distant, forgotten. 

"You've never mentioned your own family." she murmurs, cautiously. He never speaks of his past, not in specifics. It is always vague and she always ends up with more questions than she began with. 

Solas wets his lips, and shakes his head only slightly. "That is because I do not have one." he says. "Not anymore." 

"Does it hurt you to talk about them?" 

"Yes." 

And so as curious as she is, she doesn't push it. Instead, she slides back her chair and gets to her feet. Without a word he comes up with her, and seems a little taken aback when she presses her chest to him and winds arms around his waist. Then, he holds her back, just as tightly. A hand around her waist and the other at the nape of her neck, untangling little knots in her hair. 

In her clan, when someone had faced conflict or hurt, more often than not the first response had been a hug. Whether it be frustrations, fears, worries - she had come to them with a hug for comfort and she would listen. She had missed it, so much. Being intimate with Solas certainly helped her reach a bodily comfort she'd never had before, but this? This loving embrace in which she feels she could fall asleep standing upright. Melt into his arms and stay like this forever. This feels perfect. 

"I would imagine," he murmurs into her hair, "That your father cares about you, Ariwyn. It is this very same desire to see you succeed that encouraged him to push you."

She sighs. He is right, of course he is. And yet it doesn't change the tense twist of her heart in her chest. Her father loves her in his own way. He would not be coming here to "rescue" her otherwise. She wonders what sort of man he was when her mother fell in love with him. 

"Thank you." she whispers. " _ Ar lath ma, vhenan _ ." 

He hums. "And I you."

The world certainly has no end to its problems, and her own seem to be only mounting up higher. And yet she can forget about them, for a little while. Here in the arms of her love, who holds her tight, and wards away her fears. 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟━◦○◦━◦○◦━


End file.
